Pale Blue Shadows
by DreamFlight
Summary: Megamind's first kill was entirely by accident… and so was Miss Ritchie's. AU, Dark!fic
1. Shower Scene

**Pale Blue Shadows**

Summary:

Megamind's first kill was entirely by accident… and so was Miss Ritchie's. AU, Dark!fic

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 1: Shower Scene<em>

Roxanne shivered, the cold rivulets of water running down her shoulders. Her hair stuck thickly to her forehead. She curled herself inwards more tightly, her head resting on her thighs as she pulled her legs in closer. Her dress was ruined, red dye running down the shower drain. She watched the swirls of red dance across the white plastic, incriminating as the blood on her hands. The evening felt surreal, the memories playing in fragments over and over. A broken record of incriminating evidence that chilled her more deeply than the icy water that streamed down into her face. She choked back a sob, raising her face into the shower's flow to let the tears flow away down the drain. There was no relief in them. There _should_ be no relief in them. She, Roxanne Richie, was a murderer.

* * *

><p>"I couldn't possibly," Roxanne said with a smile, her voice carrying a gentle amusement as she pushed the proffered glass of champagne away. "I've had far too much already, Mr. Edwards."<p>

"Nonsense, Miss Ritchie," the suave businessman replied, his dark eyes shining in the candlelight of the restaurant. "I believe your promotion deserves to be celebrated, and as owner of the station which has promoted you, it is only fair that I provide you with certain.. enticements to stay."

"Enticements to stay?" Roxanne inquired, one eyebrow raised as she finally accepted the glass. "Isn't a promotion and a salary increase an enticement in itself?"

"Of course," he agreed amiably, "But other stations will start sending you job offers very shortly, and I want you to think favourably upon me and my humble station when you are forced to consider them."

"I think you're too kind," Roxanne said foxishly, "I already think very favourably of the station."

"And of me?" Mr. Edwards was in his mid-thirties. A handsome and wealthy man, he gazed at her with a self-confidence she found refreshing. In a city where nearly every man was terrified to so much as look at her for fear of being pummeled by her supposed boyfriend, Metro Man, Mr. Edwards was proving to be unique. And the celebratory evening he had requested as business was rapidly becoming the first date she had been on in over two years – ever since Metro Man's failed attempts to woe her.

"I think you're very… brave," Roxanne admitted over the edge of her champagne glass. She smiled flirtatiously, "Most men seem to believe I'm the personal property of the city's hero."

"Or villain," Edwards added with a dark smile.

"Villian?" Roxanne choked, her champagne nearly shooting out her mouth. "What… who on earth thinks _that_?"

Edwards shrugged, amusement on his features as he leaned back comfortably to regard her. "Well, the city's villain has as great an obsession with kidnapping you as the city does believing what you claim are only rumours of your involvement with Metro Man."

"They are rumours," Roxanne said firmly, and perhaps a little too eagerly. Edwards' smile became more of a smirk. "I can assure you that I am completely, entirely unattached, Mr. Edwards…"

"Antonio," Edwards interjected with a smile.

"Antonio," Roxanne said softly, catching the name on her tongue. "I'm sorry," she sighed, settling herself back into her seat, "I get so worked up about these things. I feel like I'm never allowed to have a normal evening."

Edwards leaned forward, taking Roxanne's hand gently into his own. "Perhaps you deserve one, my dear." He gestured towards her glass, "More champagne?"

* * *

><p>Roxanne wobbled to the washroom. She was too intoxicated. She knew this as she pushed open the door to the ladies washroom and it seemed to move just a little too far. She walked in as solidly as she could, keeping her eyes locked on her goal. The sink was a welcome relief. She dug her fingertips into the cold porcelain, breathing deeply. "Excellent, Roxanne," she muttered darkly, "Why don't you just get yourself drunk with a wealthy man who only too obviously wants to take advantage of you?" She stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The restaurant was nice, she admitted that freely. The bathroom was even nicer. Individual cloth towels sat folded in a basket by the sink. She grabbed one, thrusting it quickly under the tap, as she pushed the water all the way to cold. She lifted the towel with only faint trepidation before running the cold towel over her face, careful to avoid the makeup around her eyes.<p>

"Damnit," she muttered, tossing the soaked towel into the hamper provided. She cupped her hands under the flowing water and began to greedily slurp up the water. She needed to sober up, and fast. She hoped the caffeine from her dessert coffee would begin to counteract the effects of the alcohol in her system. She needed to make an escape before Antonio (Mr. Edwards, her mind corrected itself), swept her into his limo and brought her home to be his next conquest. Because at that point, she would be just like every other woman reporter in this city… willing to sleep her way to the top. And Roxanne refused to be one of them. At least, that was what she had remembered somewhere shortly after Edwards ordered the third bottle of champagne. "Damnit," she hissed again.

A well-dressed woman in her early fifties entered the bathroom, took one look at Roxanne in her short red dress, slurping water from her hands at the bathroom tap and sniffed. Roxanne glared at the woman's reflection in the mirror. She _was not_ one of those women. Not usually, any way. And seriously, who could blame her for this one, little slip? She, Roxanne Ritchie, spent her days getting alternately kidnapped and rescued. She was a prop in the game being played between Metro Man and Megamind, and it really was only fair that her career glean some benefits from the abuse.

She pulled herself straight, raging now against the unfairness of her lot in life. In a whirl of energy, she marched out of the washroom and flashed Mr. Edwards a smile as she passed him by the front door of the restaurant. He offered her his arm, gallantly enough, but his dark eyes whispered of a bedroom not far from here, where he would just love to take her. "Mr. Edwards," she said with gushingly fake adoration, "I would absolutely love to continue our evening, but I really must go home and go over my notes for tomorrow's interviews."

"Always working, aren't you, Miss Ritchie?" the businessman replied, his eyes betraying his disappointment only for a second before they began to scan the restaurant bar for a different conquest for the night.

Roxanne sighed to herself, a part of her had hoped that his interest was more than just passing. But it figured really, didn't it? It seemed like every man was really just looking for some beautiful, perfect floozy to hang off his arm. None of them wanted substance or conversation or understanding. They were all wrapped up in themselves and their own exploits. Well, fine then. She was now Metro City's highest-paid reporter. The whole world could just… bite her dust.

The thoughts propelled her towards the car she had only recently bought. It was silver, and sleek, and had all the bells and whistles. She loved it. She settled contentedly into the driver's seat, fastening her seatbelt as she turned the ignition. The motor sprung to life under her hands and she ran her fingers lovingly over the steering wheel. "At least I have you," she told the car, turning the radio on and setting the station to something… rock. She really wasn't feeling sentimental tonight.

The streets were empty. It was late after all, sometime well after midnight. It was probably for the best, since she could still feel the light buzz of the champagne running through her veins. Just keep the car straight, she thought to herself, and go slowly, and you won't get caught. She felt a perverse pleasure in breaking the law just this much. She shook her head, clearing it of the thought. She was spending far too much of her time with the city's villain if she was starting to take pleasure in breaking the law. Even ones like driving under the influence, which, you know, everyone did.

She stared at the radio knob for a moment. The music was throbbing loud, and not even close to classic rock. She shook her head, swinging the dial. Stupid Friday night party mixes. She raised her gaze and found that she had drifted just slightly into the next lane. She frowned, correcting the angle. Perhaps she was more intoxicated than she had thought. Maybe she should pull over and call a cab. She could always come get her car in the morning. The loud, party dance music continued to blare from her car radio. She found herself having trouble focusing on the decision. "For Pete's sake," she muttered, again adjusting the dial. She didn't see the black car waiting at the intersection up ahead, nor did she notice that the lights had turned yellow long before she had dipped her gaze.

The silver car sped forward, even as the expensive black sedan pulled into the intersection. It was very nearly across when the silver car collided with it on the passenger side. The last thing Roxanne saw was Mr. Edwards' shocked gaze staring straight into her own through lightly tinted glass and her front windshield, as metal crunched and screeched around her.

When Roxanne came to, she was lying on a stretcher. She blinked blearily as the loud wail of sirens and the flash of coloured lights filtered into her consciousness. "What happened?" she heard herself asking, leaning upwards to sit. A clink of metal brought her attention to her wrist. She stared dumbly down at the thin metal band around her wrist. She pulled her arm up experimentally, fascinated by the contraption that cuffed her to the stretcher.

"Miss Ritchie," a firm voice demanded. "Can I please have your attention?"

"Of course, Offisicer," she heard her voice slur. A dawning horror was creeping its way into her mind, but she was refusing to acknowledge it as yet.

"Miss Ritchie," the voice was stern, disapproving, and cold, "I need you to take a deep breath. At the count of three you're going to exhale for me, alright?"

Roxanne clenched her eyes shut. She should have pulled over. She should have called a cab. She exhaled. The policeman's soft "humph," was the only sound her ears picked up. She opened her eyes. He stared back at her hard. "I know you've been drinking, Miss Ritchie," the officer said tersely, "But you're only just over the limit. Lucky for you, you might _only_ be looking at a manslaughter charge." Roxanne stared at the man uncomprehendingly. "The car you hit," the officer continued, "was carrying Mr. Edwards, who I don't need to tell you is a very influential man in this city." He looked about ready to hit her, "He's dead."

Roxanne stared at the man, her mouth dry. "His chauffeur?" she heard herself gasp.

"He's alright," the policeman said with a grimace, "All the better to testify against you."

* * *

><p>The following hours pasted in a blur for Roxanne as she numbly went through the motions of being charged, posting bail, and being driven home. She dragged herself up the stairs of her building without fully analyzing the situation. She kept her mind still as she unlocked her apartment door. She shut it behind her with a gentle click. She focused on the minute details. The grain of the wood of her door as she locked it shut. The chill of her hardwood floors as she peeled off her too-tight heels. The pad of her bare feet as she walked down the hallway to her bedroom. She got as far as the mirror before she was forced to confront the truth.<p>

She looked up slowly, her reflection staring back at her. Dark circles of rubbed mascara and eyeliner hung around her eyes. Her hair was ruffled in all the wrong ways and a sense of dustiness pervaded her person. Her dress was rumpled. But it was her expression that scared her. She looked haunted. Lost.

She had killed a man. A man she knew, no less. Her own boss was dead. Because of her.

* * *

><p>The cold water could not absolve her. Roxanne knew somewhere, in some deep recess of her being, that things would never be right again, and that at some point she would have to deal with the fact. Would have to come to terms with it. At some point, she would have to accept that she was a murderer. She had killed. She was no better than any of the villains or bad guys that she reported on. All the horror she had once expressed at the murder of an innocent would now be nothing but hypocrisy. She had lost so much of herself. The water ran clear now, carrying only little pieces of herself down the drain.<p>

There was someone in her apartment. Roxanne could hear movement in her living room. She heard padded footsteps cross her bedroom floor. Numbly, she wondered if it was a burglar, perhaps some faceless evil who, in a flush of karmic balancing, would murder her in her own shower. She watched the bathroom door creak open from where it stood ajar. She regarded the figure who stood in her doorway with dull, hooded eyes.

She watched him cross the few feet of tiled floor towards the upright shower. He paused at the glass shower door, which hung open, water spraying across the bathroom floor. He stared down at her, his green eyes expressively sad. Understanding. Knowing. As haunted and cold as her own.

Roxanne made no move to stop him as he stepped into her shower and slid down the wall to sit beside her. Icy water pelted them both. "Does it help?" he murmured softly.

"The guilt?" she whispered hoarsely, her throat aching. She felt him nod almost imperceptibly. "No," she swallowed hard, "It doesn't help at all."


	2. Disbelief

**Pale Blue Shadows**

_Chapter 2: Disbelief_

Overnight, Roxanne had become infamous. Not only had someone been killed in an accident which had looked suspiciously like drunk driving, that someone was her boss, with whom she had been seen with earlier. On a date.

Roxanne sat numbly, curled into a ball on her couch. Her hair hung in limp angles as she regarded the news broadcasts in horror, pulling her pale pink bathrobe more tightly around her. She was uncertain exactly how much time had passed while she sat in the shower. She was uncertain how long the city's supervillain had sat with her, the cold water pelting the both of them, numbing them to guilt. At some point she had asked, the reporter still alive somewhere beneath her breast, whether this was how he had felt, after that explosion three years ago. She'd watched his hand (bare, in one of the only times she'd ever seen him without gloves) clench into a fist, the long, slender fingers curling in on themselves slowly before opening again. She felt his arms shrug helplessly, his leather-clad shoulder rubbing against her own. "Only a matter of time, wasn't it?" he'd replied finally, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

The whole situation was uncharacteristic of the both of them, really. A point that had been driven home when he had finally risen, extending a slim blue hand to her to pull her up with him. The fact that she had accepted it probably spoke volumes about her defeat. She had lost the moral ground. Who was she to judge now? She had numbly let him wrap a fluffy towel around her drenched and dripping form. Dully, she had obeyed him when he told her to strip off her dress. He'd stepped out of the bathroom, pulling the door closed on his way out. She wasn't sure if she would have cared if he had stayed and watched. After a long series of minutes, during which she began to think he had left, the bathroom door had moved slightly. Slowly it had opened, pausing to wait for any negative reaction. Roxanne had simply stood there, towel wrapped around her, tucked under arms like a tube. He'd stared at her with those deep green eyes. He'd pulled the soft pink bathrobe off its hook and around her shoulders.

He'd left then, but only after a long pause. "Pack a bag," he'd said suddenly. "Only essentials. Just in case." He'd stepped off her balcony and disappeared into the night. The sound of a hoverbike filled her ears, though none was to be seen. He was getting better with the invisibility shields.

"Roxanne Ritchie," a perky female voice burst from the television, "Innocent victim or partner in crime? New opinions emerge amidst yesterday's scandal involving Miss Ritchie and the untimely demise of her boss, Mr. Antonio Edwards. Miss Ritchie, known for both her channel 8 news reports and for her celebrity status as frequent kidnappee of the infamous Megamind, has been charged with manslaughter after the presumed accident Friday night. Up until now, Miss Ritchie's reputation and intentions have never been questioned, but with recent developments, one can only ask if we have been the hapless victims of her own merciless manipulations."

The blonde reporter with a bad dye-job turned to the ungainly man standing beside her. Roxanne watched dispassionately as the man straightened his glasses and ran a hand through his unruly blonde locks. "Standing with me is Bernard Jacobs, self-proclaimed expert on the on-going conflict between Metro Man and Megamind. Bernard has shed new light on the perhaps twisted relationship between the two aliens and Miss Ritchie."

"It seems to me," the man began in a dry voice, "That the only logical conclusion here is that Miss Ritchie has been in on the kidnappings since the beginning. How else has she escaped unharmed every single time? Megamind may not be a mass murderer, but innocents have been victims of schemes gone wrong before. I don't think I need to remind people about last year's hospital power outage. Power was lost for three minutes before back up generators kicked in. The death toll was placed at five."

"Which is really the fault of the hospital buying cheap generators," Roxanne murmured despite herself.

"Or the infamous Labour Day explosions, which caught six young teens unawares," the researcher continued.

"Because they were trespassing on private property," Roxanne added, drawing out a sigh as she clenched her eyes shut.

"It seems only logical that Miss Ritchie should have obtained at least _injuries_ during Megamind's exploits, unless they had reached some previous agreement or had some common goal. A number of sources confirm that Miss Ritchie has always been quick to state that she is, in fact, _not _in a relationship with Metro Man…"

Roxanne turned the television off with tears in her eyes. Her life was ruined. She had ruined her entire life, her career, her reputation, her piece of mind, all by getting distracted while driving. The phone rang by her side, startling her out of her thoughts. She stared at the phone for a long moment before picking it up. "Hello?" she asked quietly, her voice sounding hollow in her ears.

"Miss Ritchie," the voice at the other end of the line was firm but warm, "This is Danny Stiles from Human Resources. Are you able to answer a few questions for me?"

Roxanne sat numbly, "Yes?" she replied, uncertainty haunting her voice.

"Excellent," Danny continued, "I need to record the conversation we have, alright? Do I have your permission to turn on the recorder?"

Roxanne was frozen. She knew this drill. She'd heard of this being done. She hadn't really believed it happened though, and had never even dreamed it could happen to her. "I'm fired, aren't I?" she whispered into the phone's receiver.

Danny laughed, "Of course not, Miss Ritchie. But I do need you to answer the question."

"Yes," she replied in a soft voice.

"This is Danny Stiles, from Human Resources, talking to Roxanne Ritchie, reporter for Channel 8 news. This call is to inform Miss Ritchie of her immediate suspension from work, effective immediately today, Monday, May 19th. Miss Ritchie, this suspension is pending further investigation of Friday's accident and Mr. Edwards' subsequent death and may lead to actual dismissal pending sentencing. Your suspension is as per your contractual agreement regarding criminal charges and station media relations. Do you understand what I have just told you?"

"Yes," Roxanne whispered. Danny hung up the phone. The dial tone filled the apartment.

She sat for a long moment, disbelief flooding her senses. She rose slowly, her legs prickling with pins and needles from having been curled underneath her for so long. She wobbled towards her bedroom, opened her closet and pulled out an overnight bag. She set it on her bed. She moved mechanically around her room, pulling out items of interest. Mostly black. She felt nauseous. She wasn't sure why she was doing what Megamind had told her. Mostly, it was simply for something to do. Some form of activity to keep her from crying out against the injustice of it all.

Because really, she deserved everything they dished out. She had cost a man his life. Not an amazingly moral man, admittedly, but a nice man. A nice man with dark eyes which had appreciated her wit and how she had sipped the champagne that had ultimately cost him his life. How ironic, she thought, he bought his death.

She started at the sound of a steady knock from her living room. Stiffly, she walked from the bedroom to the living room, staring dully through the glass doors of her balcony before processing who was tapping at her door. She walked towards the doors, tightening the knot in her bathrobe. "Metro Man," she acknowledged as she opened the door. "Come in?"

"I'd rather not, actually, Roxie, if it's all the same." Roxanne stared at him without emotion. He appeared uncharacteristically nervous… but then again, who _was_ acting in character these days? "Roxie," he stared at her with sad, disbelieving eyes, "Is what they're saying true?"

She sighed, running a hand through her already disastrous hair. "What?" she heard her voice reply bitterly, "That I've been collaborating with Megamind and setting up my own kidnappings for years? That I'm a closet pyromaniac? That I stole narcotics from the local pharmacy when I was twelve years old?" He stared at her patiently, his honest face sympathizing with her, but also showing signs of suspicion.

"None of those are true," she said finally, "But yeah, I did… I just took my eyes off the road for a second, Wayne. A second! And… god, I feel miserable. I… I killed my own boss." The admittance came at a price, because now the numbness was gone, replaced by a pit of abject misery. "Wayne," she begged softly, tears now in her eyes, "What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to make amends for this?"

She watched his eyes go dark, watched him straighten just imperceptibly. His jaw became just a little firmer, his gaze just a little more distant. "I don't know, Roxanne," he replied, "But I know that I can't be seen with you anymore. It's… it isn't personal, okay? It's just, how can I be seen as the pinnacle of justice if I don't expect justice and rightness from my friends?" He stared at Roxanne with a cool detachment, "What were you thinking? Driving drunk?" He shook his head, "It's as if I don't even know you," he paused, "And from now on, I don't."

Roxanne watched him fly away in stunned shock. "Wayne?" she mewled softly, fresh tears pouring down her cheeks. Could he have really just abandoned her to the wolves? A scratching sounded at her front door. Roxanne swung her head rapidly, a sense of increasing horror rising within her. She strode to the door in haste, swinging it open only in time to see a few hooded figures run down the hallway and through the door to the stairwell.

She stared after the figures for a long moment, her eyes moving up and down the hall, trying to figure out the source of the sound. She stepped into the hall, letting her door fall shut behind her. She stood there, bare feet on the hallway carpeting, searching for something out of place. She turned slowly back towards her door and covered her mouth with a gasp. One of the words was etched into her door, the rest were spray painted on in red. Whore, they claimed. Slut. Liar. Deceiver. And etched into the wood: murderer.

Roxanne barely made it inside the door before she collapsed to her knees in a helpless pile. Frantically, she wondered if there was anyone she could call. Any friend who might not turn their back on her as Metro Man had. She leaned against the closet door in the front hall, one hand rummaging blindly across the surface of her front table for her cell phone. She pressed the well-known number into the key pad. She listened to the phone ring for a very long time before a woman's voice answered. "Mommy?" she whispered brokenly into the phone. "What do I do?"

There was a long moment of silence on the line. "Is it true?" her mother's voice came across the line, long distance from Chicago.

"Mommy, I don't know what to do," Roxanne sobbed. "I… it was an accident and now they're saying… they're saying awful things. And… and part of me believes them. And… and I don't know what to do."

The silence on the line stretched into an interminable tension. "Mommy?" Roxanne finally prompted.

"I thought we had raised you better than this," her mother's voice was faint. "I'm… I'm so disappointed in you, Roxanne. Your father…. Your father would be heart-broken." Roxanne hiccupped back another sob. "Thank god…" her mother paused, "Thank god he didn't live to see this."

Roxanne hiccupped again, "Mommy?" she said again, with rising desperation.

"Well, Roxanne," her mother's voice was increasingly weak. "I'm afraid you've gotten yourself into this one. I told you a long time ago to smarten up. To accept Metro Man's offers. To settle down and drop all this reporting foolishness. I told you no good would come of these choices…"

"Mommy…" Roxanne gasped.

"I don't want to hear from you until this is fixed."

The line went dead in Roxanne's hands.


	3. Blackest Night

**Pale Blue Shadows**

_Chapter 3: Blackest Night_

At some point, Roxanne had pulled herself to her feet. Her stomach had growled at her furiously. Her throat had scratched, parched for liquids. She had walked into the kitchen and stared around herself, utterly listless and lost, with an increasing sense of wrongness in her gut. She had been trying to do the _right_ thing by not going home with Mr. Edwards. The whole thing was an accident. People got caught drunk driving all the time. There had been twenty-five drunk-driving incidents in Metro City in the past year alone. Five of them had resulted in deaths.

Had any of their families and friends disowned them? Roxanne wasn't sure. She was sure that none of them had been incriminated in the presumed murder attempts on Metro Man or accused of staging their own kidnappings.

Roxanne opened cupboards with a restless disregard for neatness. She pulled out a glass and filled it from the kitchen tap, downing the water, relishing the cold in her throat. She paused, suddenly she no longer felt hungry. Who was she to take pleasure from anything? She had _killed_ someone. Someone she'd known, no less. There was no getting away from that.

A bottle of wine stared at her from an open cupboard. She stared back at it. A silent conversation passed between her and the bottle. "What the hell?" she finally snarled, "The damage has already been done, hasn't it?"

Three bottles of red wine later, Roxanne was about a third of her way through the bottle of vodka she kept at the back of the fridge for holidays when her friends were over. She figured that she no longer had any friends, so what point was there really in saving it for them? The bag in her room was packed to the brim with things that were black. At some point, she'd stopped really looking and anything black had started to make its way into the bag. Black was how she felt right now. Black black black. Black as the heart of a person who murdered people by driving their cars into them. Black as the soul of someone thoughtless enough to drive drunk.

She wasn't sure when she had started laughing at the news reports on television. The theories were getting truly ridiculous. Suddenly, someone was claiming that _she _might be the one behind the whole conflict between Megamind and Metro Man. As if she could orchestrate something of that scale. When they interviewed Metro Man, she began throwing things at the television's general direction from her china cabinet. "Liar!" she punctuated her yell with a dish, which smashed gracelessly against the wall behind the television. "Stupid hypocritical piece of betraying shit!"

She took another swig of vodka. There was a light outside. She stepped up to her window, staring down at the small crowd that was staring up at her general direction. They stared at her balcony and pointed. Perhaps she was lucky she was too high for them to necessarily know that she was standing in her window looking down at them. There were signs, she noted dully. "Wonderful," she told the room caustically, "Because obviously big, strong Metro Man who protects the city from everything bad or horrible can't resist my terrible manipulation. That's exactly why he decided to abandon one of his only real friends." She stared sadly down the crowd. "If you only knew," she said with a bitter scowl.

A large banner unfolded above the crowd. "Turn yourself in, evil bitch," it read in bright red paint.

"God, you people are horrible," Roxanne commented darkly.

"I've been telling you that for years," his voice startled her away from the window.

"How did…" Roxanne looked from Megamind to the open balcony door. The night breeze moved the curtains gently, but nothing could be seen directly outside.

He shrugged, a slightly shimmering cape falling from his once-again gloved hand to her couch. "Once I had the science for invisibility shields for the car, it was easy enough to transfer the polymeric compound to fabric," it was as if it were nothing to him. Roxanne shook her head. The city thought she was the mastermind behind Megamind's plans? Fat chance.

He leaned leisurely against a wall, his expression blank. "You know you did the world a favour by killing him, right?"

Roxanne stared at him in disbelief. "What? By your standards?" she retorted sarcastically.

"No," he ground out, "By your own. The man was financing illegal arms dealers in Sub-Saharan Africa and the Middle East. He also owned controlling stock in several factories in Bangladesh which use exclusively child labour." He investigated his gloves dispassionately, "And he routinely hires prostitutes here in Metro City, but of course, they don't officially _exist_."

Roxanne stared at him with wide-eyes. "How do you know any of this?" she asked breathlessly, uncertain why he would look at all.

He looked up at her, his green eyes regarding her calmly, "Pays to know your competition for most evil, doesn't it?"

Roxanne watched him uncertainly. "Compared to that…" she looked from the window she had just recently looked out of, "You really aren't all that evil at all."

Megamind shrugged again, dismissing the idea with a wave of his hands. "Don't you know anything about your profession, Miss Ritchie? What the media says is true, _must be true_. What the majority thinks is all that is really real." He took a few steps towards her, pausing when he stood just by her shoulder, though his gaze was directed out the window. "Besides," he murmured softly, "It's true enough isn't it? I've killed people, Roxanne, I deserve whatever they can dish out."

"But that's not true!" she heard herself exclaim, "People have only died by accident! You didn't know…" she trailed off as he turned his head to nod at her knowingly. She swallowed hard. "You're right," she said slowly, "They create their own reality, don't they? They make the villains. Even when there are worse people who they should really be giving their attention."

"Welcome to my world, Miss Ritchie," he replied darkly, his green eyes glowing faintly as he lithely moved towards the couch and scooped up the cape. He paused midway in his affixing of the cape around him. The effect was bizarre, the parts of him concealed by the cape nearly invisible to the naked eye, but those parts which weren't covered still brightly and uncomprehendingly present. "Did you pack that bag?" he asked.

Roxanne nodded silently, her eyes trained on the effects of the invisibility cape. "Good," Megamind replied as he pulled the cape completely around himself. Apparently, the cape was more of a cloak, as something that appeared to be a hood was pulled over his head, rendering him entirely invisible. Roxanne felt his presence pause by her elbow for just a moment. "I truly am sorry you're having to experience this, Miss Ritchie," his voice said softly, disembodied as it was, "But at the same time, it's nice… to have someone understand."

Roxanne bit her lip as the presence departed. The curtains moved in the breeze and the sound of dim shouts and distant jeers floated upwards into her apartment. She closed the balcony door. Suddenly, she felt foolish, holding the vodka bottle. She dumped the rest of its contents down the drain.

She went to bed. She pulled the covers up to her chin and turned her back on the rest of her room. She wasn't sure what was happening exactly. She should probably get a lawyer, or something. As Megamind had forced her to point out, in his own befuddling way, the death on her hands had been an accident. And apparently, the man she had killed was, in actual fact, better off dead. She shuddered now at the thought that she really _did_ almost go home with the slimy man.

Maybe she shouldn't hold herself so responsible for the death. It had been an accident. Accidents happened. She felt remorseful, yes. But… the media… and the public… were quickly turning her into some sort of monster or expert manipulator. She needed a lawyer, someone to defend her and her honour. Or at least, what could be salvaged of it. She would have to do her time for the drunk driving charge. And quite possibly manslaughter. But at least the world would know she was innocent of the more heinous crimes and acts that were being leveled against her. Things would certainly look brighter in the morning.

* * *

><p>Things did not look brighter in the morning. The rest of her front door was etched and grafitti-ed with horrible things and the wall of the hallway directly in front of her door was filling rapidly. She had started calling lawyers' offices around 9 am, but had been hung up on, laughed at, ignored, pitied but still turned down, and told off several times over by noon.<p>

"Listen, I believe you," the woman had said, "But there's _no way_ to win this case. It would inevitably go to a jury, and public opinion and the media has _jumped_ on this like ants on a picnic basket. I would be happy to defend you, but there is no way the firm would accept such an epic loss. I'm afraid you're better off just laying down and taking it. Plea guilty, accept the minimum sentence for a DUI and manslaughter, do your time, and then start over. That's the best advice I can give you."

That was the nicest thing she'd been told.

The nicest.

Her mother had blocked her number.

Several of her friends had called. After the first few verbal onslaughts, she had started letting them go to voice mail. Each one sounded the same.

"I can't believe you had me fooled for all these years, Roxanne Ritchie! You are a lying, deceitful, inconsiderate, slime of a person. I can't believe how you have manipulated things to your advantage. People wonder how you've gotten so far in your career. Ha! You aren't even that good of a reporter. In fact, you're a hack! All of your scheming and manipulating got you far, but now everyone's caught on! I'll bet you even slept with Edwards to get that last promotion. Everyone saw you eating dinner with him. So cozy, and then you went home alone. What did he do? Turn you down for seconds? So you smashed into his car? I'll tell you, I thought I knew evil but you are something else!"

Roxanne stood by her living room window, idly watching the crowd below. They hated her. It was taking some time to process, but the truth was soaking in quickly. The hatred and bile these people felt was acidic. It turned her stomach. It made her feel nauseous. It made her rage against their stupidity. They were ignorant, stupid sheep, believing anything they were told! Any half-assed suspicion or rumour was immediately being caught up as incriminating evidence, no matter how far-fetched.

A week ago, she had been one of them.


	4. And Now They Come

**Pale Blue Shadows**

_Chapter 4: And Now They Come_

He was in her living room again. This time, he had settled himself onto her couch. His slim build occupied a space that seemed much bigger than himself. He seemed to be intently focused on identifying the contents of her coffee mug.

"Don't you have anywhere else to go?" she asked finally, masking the ironic pleasure she took in his presence. No one was willing to talk to her, except to say horribly cruel things or insult her every feature.

"Not really," he replied, a bored tone in his voice. "You're hogging the entire spot-light at the moment, Miss Ritchie."

"Well, you can have it back," she spat, perching uncomfortably on the arm of her armchair. "I don't want it." She regarded him with suspicion, "And why haven't you done anything in the past week? It's not like you to skip exploding something or… kidnapping me."

He raised an eyebrow artfully, "Hardly a point in that anymore, is there, Miss Ritchie? From what I've heard, Metro Man has very firmly declared that you and he were never even involved." He smirked at her, "Which would make it an awfully long time since you've had a date, wouldn't it?"

Roxanne swallowed the urge to hit his big blue head. "Yeah, thanks for that. Still, explosions? You could… I dunno… steal something?"

Megamind's smirk widened, "My my, Miss Ritchie, are you actually _encouraging_ my criminal activities? Perhaps there's some truth in what they're saying about you being the real mastermind…"

"Oh, that is so it!" Roxanne shrieked, grabbing the nearest thing at hand – the plush cushion that rested on the armchair's seat – and pelting it at his head.

"Ow," Megamind said flatly, his voice a sarcastic monotone, "Please, stop throwing soft, barely existent items at me. I may not survive their fierce impact." His green eyes mocked her.

"You're enjoying this," she huffed. "Everyone in the city is focused on hating me and you're enjoying this."

He shuffled uncomfortably on the couch. "Not as much as you would think," he crossed his fingers slowly in front of him, "I attempted one of my most evil schemes yet yesterday," he lifted his gaze to her in sheepish discontent, "I reduced an elementary school to rubble." Roxanne gasped, her eyes widening. "Apparently, I was mistaken in ensuring that the custodial staff had left for the evening. The lack of a body count ensured that the whole ordeal barely even got a mention on the evening news."

Roxanne's expression went from shocked to contemplative. "They've really got you all wrong, don't they?" she said finally.

"They, Miss Ritchie?" he drew his eyebrows up into a questioning gaze.

She sighed, running a hand through her short hair. "I know, I know… I was part of "they" just last week." She stood, walking from the armchair to the window, where her devoted haters could still be seen. She wrapped her arms loosely around herself. "I just… I feel like I've disappointed them. I did wrong. I… killed someone. I feel like a horrible, horrible person. I feel like I deserve whatever they can throw at me. Like I should repent forever and ever and maybe, eventually I could earn a slice of forgiveness." She turned from the window, facing him again. He sat still, his head at a slight angle as he regarded her in quite contemplation. "And then I hear the lies they're telling," she continued, "And I read the words… and they… they're horrible. They're cruel and vindictive. They're inventing rumours to spread. I'm not just some person who made a mistake, I'm a monster. I'm… some sort of evil, manipulating, unhuman thing. And I get…" she paused, waiting for some kind of judgment in his expression. But he simply sat there, his green eyes issuing her a challenge to keep talking. To finish what she was starting. To take this equation from a to b to c and then to come to the conclusion on her own.

She took a step closer. "I feel so angry," she admitted. "I feel like…" she cast a gaze towards the window, "Like they're sheep, believing whatever they're told. I feel like they're too stupid to think for themselves. Like they're incapable of telling truth from lies. Incapable of making their decisions, or forming their own opinions. Like they can't see past their own insignificant lives to find the bigger picture. Like maybe they're just so miserable about themselves they need to throw it back on me." Her voice was rising, getting harder and harsher. She looked at him, and he nodded, just enough to send her off again.

"I feel like… like I could just…" she struggled to find the world.

"Rage?" he supplied, "Destroy every fictitious bit of what they dare to consider good? Become exactly what they expect you to be?" The bitterness in his eyes mirrored her own.

"Yeah," she said awkwardly. "Exactly."

A knock came at the door. "Miss Ritchie? This is the Metro City Police. I need you to open this door."

Megamind's eyes widened. "Grab your bag," he hissed.

"But…" Roxanne looked between the door and Megamind himself. His eyes were dark and hard. He stood now, his entire body wound tightly as a spring.

"You don't want to go to jail, do you?" he added. "Go. Get. Your bag."

"Miss Ritchie, you're wanted on charges of aiding and abetting a known criminal, accessory to attempted murder, and accessory to conspiracy to commit murder. Please open this door."

Roxanne's eyes widened. "See?" he hissed. "If they don't have any real evidence, they'll make it up."

Roxanne went to her bedroom and grabbed the bag. She walked back into the living room, passing the front door as they began to kick at it to break it down. She articulated a strangled cry as she literally ran into her living room. Megamind caught her in his arms and pulled her close, wrapping the invisibility cape around them both. "Stay close," he breathed into her ear, his arms remaining wrapped around her.

She shivered against him. He was stronger than she had thought. His arms were wound only loosely around her, holding the cape closed over them both. He pulled her back slowly into a corner of the apartment as the police burst in. His breathing was slow and quiet and his breath warmed her left ear slightly as he breathed. She hadn't been this close to a man in years, and her body reacted exactly the way it thought it should. Every nerve ending in her body became hyper aware, especially anywhere their bodies were in contact. She felt the muscles in his torso contract slightly against her back, the realization that he actually had muscles filtering absurdly through her mind. His heart beat against her shoulder blade. From the right side of his body. Which really wasn't as odd as the heartbeat that accompanied it.

"Breathe," he whispered in her ear, startling her just enough to make her jump slightly against him. He chuckled, a deep, quiet chuckle that reverberated through what she supposed was his equivalent to a rib cage and into her own. His whisper had set something deep inside of her tingling. Her ears had always been sensitive. It really wasn't fair, she thought helplessly.

On the other hand, another thought surfaced in her mind. You need to look at this objectively, the calm part of herself said. You're currently wrapped in the arms of Megamind, the devilishly handsome master of all evil and villainy while police search your apartment for you because you've been charged with aiding and abetting said master of villainy when really, you haven't. A silent laugh shook her body.

"What's so funny?" he whispered again, and suddenly she felt horribly, wildly free to enjoy the sensation, and maybe even provoke him to do it again.

"The irony of it all," she whispered back, tilting her head back to rest against his chest. She looked up him, catching his green eyes staring down at her. The cape was like a tent of invisibility. It was absolutely absurd. Like some game that children would play. It was… ridiculously entertaining. The police were searching the apartment, starting at every squeaking floorboard, and they were _right here_. It was… strangely delicious to watch them wander around stupidly. It revealed them for what they were. Stupid. Horribly so.

"This is kinda fun," she admitted softly, just under her breath. She watched his reaction with interest. His breath caught in his throat as he stared down at her. His emerald eyes widened in surprise. They reflected something else though, awe, perhaps. And respect. His arms pulled her tighter.

"Why do you think I do this?" he confided in a wicked whisper. His customary smirk was once again plastered across his thin lips.

"Why _are_ you doing this?" she asked suddenly, her voice a ghost as a police officer passed close to the couch, glancing behind it, but ignoring the apparently empty corner they stood in.

His face twitched slightly, his arms tightening around her further, pulling her closer to him as if he were afraid of losing her to the police officer. He leaned right next to her ear, careful to be as quiet as possible, "Because I'm terribly fond of you, Miss Ritchie. And if they lock you up, who will I exchange witty banter with?"

Roxanne felt a strange thrill run up her spine. She managed a ragged breath. "What if," she breathed, pausing to reassess what she was saying next, debating if this was really the choice she wanted to make. "What if I did become exactly what they expect me to be?"

From the awkward position they were in, his green eyes bore down into her own. In an instant, he had spun her around to face him. He regarded her with suspicion. "Ah," he said with a wicked smirk, "Have I finally convinced you to be my Evil Queen?"

"If I said yes?" Roxanne murmured, her eyes captivated by his gaze. His eyes fluttered closed as he pressed his forehead to her own.

"Don't toy with me, Miss Ritchie. You'll find that there is no going back from this."

"I think there's already no going back," she whispered, her hands settling on his chest.

His eyes flew open. "Temptress," he hissed.

"Are you tempted?" she replied, a hint of mischief in her voice. There was a playfully flirtatious feeling rising within her, even as his closeness was making it hard to breath. She's always accepted the fact that she found him attractive in some strange way. It had just always been a feeling she had squashed under the weight of moral certitude.

She'd lost that stupidity.

"You've no idea," he whispered, a wicked smile dancing across his lips.

Before she had a chance to react, he had spun her back around, thrown off the cape, and unholstered his gun. "Ah, the upholders of Metrosity's justice system. How delightful of you to just burst in," his smirk was wide as the police officers all froze in place. "And even more delightful, your false charges and suspicions have accomplished what I could never do," he drew Roxanne into his arms, "You've pushed poor, dear Miss Ritchie into my clutches for good." He smirked evilly. "You really must send my regards to the mayor. And Metro Man. And… well, everyone really for being so wonderfully cruel." He waved his gun, "Ah ah ah, I suggest you drop your weapons," he suggested playfully, "Unless you would prefer me to test my DE-stroy setting!"

Every police officer dropped their gun with a clatter. Roxanne watched with a detached interest. And a small amount of pride. They were terrified of him. She'd… well, honestly, she'd never really been terrified of him. "Come, Miss Ritchie," Megamind said with a certain grandiosity, "Let us escape from this madness."

She smirked, it was all an act, wasn't it? Every bit of it was a game, played for private amusement. She threw a careless look at the officers, wrapped one hand around the handle of her bag, and delicately wrapped the other around the arm Megamind offered her. "With pleasure," she acceded.


	5. Sentimentality

**Pale Blue Shadows**

Author's Note: Huge and loving thanks to Karen B. Jones, mommy2caitlyn and FluffyFurball – I hope this latest update answers some of your questions and meets with your expectations… and I promise that I will get right on living up to the M rating. ;)

_Chapter 5: Sentimentality_

Roxanne was looking through new eyes. Her arms were wrapped around Megamind's waist as they sped through the early evening air to his lair. She'd never been awake for this journey before and it felt simply exhilarating. The wind rushed over her head, tossing her hair wildly. She felt oddly free, as if she were leaving every aspect of her former life behind. New ways of looking at the world were exploding across her consciousness. New horizons to explore stretched out before her.

She breathed deeply as they flew over the city's public gardens. The air smelt of fresh cut grass and the earthy growing smells of spring. Beneath the scents of the garden settled another set of smells. Leather, a faint hint of an exotic muskiness, and a trace of oil and grease tickled her nose. The scent that was uniquely Megamind's. She tightened her arms ever so slightly, resting her head against his shoulder blades as she watched the moon and stars rise over the city. If these were the things she had been missing being good, being bad certainly wouldn't be that difficult.

She missed the exact moment they dipped, flying suddenly straight toward a solid brick wall. She gasped, clenching her eyes shut, "Are you crazy?" she shrieked, shielding herself as much as possible behind his lithe body.

His response was apparently to rev the hoverbike to even faster speeds. Roxanne held her breath, bracing for an impact that never came. The bike stilled and settled to the ground beneath them. Roxanne breathed. Her eyes opened ever so slowly. She was clinging to Megamind, her body scrunched up behind his back, and he was laughing. She lifted her head, taking in the familiar décor of the lair. Her jaw worked silently for a moment. "Sometimes I really hate you," she said bluntly, smacking his shoulder as she pulled herself from the bike in a vain attempt to reclaim some fraction of her dignity.

His green eyes followed her, dancing evilly. "Somehow I doubt that, Miss Ritchie," he commented, his own dismount from the bike graceful and practiced.

She listened with only half of her attention, the rest was suddenly coming to the terms with the fact that she was standing in Megamind's evil lair without her hands and feet being bound. All of her "nosy reporter" training was begging for release – there was so much she had always wondered about, so many things she'd wanted better looks at, so many explanations she craved. She felt her mouth go dry. In some ways, she was a kid in a candy store.

"Want the grand tour?" Megamind's question was a silken invitation and Roxanne found herself nodding in speechless joy.

"Tell me _everything_," she insisted.

He walked towards her, his seal leather boots nearly silent on the concrete floor. His eyes looked bright for a moment. At least they did until he leaned in conspiratorially close to her, "Too bad," he whispered. He grinned evilly, "You don't really believe I would reveal all my secrets at the drop of a hat, do you?"

Roxanne felt her mouth open in shock. "But, why not?" she pouted, bewildered by the abrupt change of face.

Megamind just smiled at her enigmatically. He strode past her without looking back. Roxanne looked from him to her overnight bag and huffed lightly. No gentlemen here, apparently. She grabbed the bag and followed the blue alien, muttering under her breath about the untrustworthiness of aliens in general.

She wasn't paying attention when she walked directly into his back. She gasped softly, though he remained unmoved. "What's that, dear Miss Ritchie?" his voice held thinly veiled amusement. "Have you forgotten that I'm still the villain here?"

Roxanne shifted uncomfortably. The reality of her situation was making itself more apparent. The lair was dimly lit, with scrap metal bits lining the walls. Strange dials and control panels and electronic equipment lined shelves that looked as if they had taken more than one beating. Strange beeps, hisses, and rumbles sounded from dark recesses. The floor was bare concrete. The walls revealed the structure for an old warehouse, structurally questionable. She felt a shiver of uncertainty send goosebumps up and down her arms. Perhaps she had been a bit hasty. Perhaps (and she dreaded to admit this one) she actually had fallen for his sinister charm, and had made a much bigger mistake than she had imagined possible. Because, what really did she know about Megamind after all?

"What's your name?" she blurted out suddenly. He seemed to stiffen, as dark shadows pressed inwards upon them as if listening for the answer.

"Miss Ritchie," his voice was calm and measured, "Must you really ask after all these years?"

She ground her teeth. "I meant your _real_ name. You had to be called something before you were Megamind."

He turned then, regarding her with his glittering emerald eyes. They weighed her. For a moment, she wondered if she would be found wanting. "Generally, I was called Blue or Hey, you," he said dryly.

Roxanne waited patiently. She met his gaze steadily. She was a reporter. She could find out at least this one secret.

"Syx," he replied shortly, spinning on his heel and continuing to stroll past unidentifiable hulks covered and concealed by white and grey dust covers.

"Six?" Roxanne puzzled aloud. "What kind of name is Six?"

He froze again, this time his gloved hands fisted slowly, repeatedly. "Not six," he ground out, "Syx. With a y. Or, more or less." There was a long pause, "It was what my parents called me."

Roxanne stilled, "I thought you were sent here when you were a baby?"

"I was," his shoulders dropped as he turned to face her again. His eye brows were knit together in displeasure, "I was eight days old, to be exact."

Roxanne regarded him warily. "So is that what Minion calls you?"

He laughed at that, a viciously short bark. "No, Minion almost always calls me Sir," he frowned, "Though if anyone has earned the right to call me anything else, it would be him."

A wild thought floundered through Roxanne's mind. It wasn't possible, and she was almost certain to get a good laugh out of this flight of fancy… "You mean to tell me you remember what your parents called you at eight days old?" she demanded, her voice sounding harsher than she had intended, disbelief colouring her tone.

He stared at her, "Of course, don't you?" He seemed honestly bemused at that one.

With a certainty that he was simply pulling one over on her for his own sick amusement, Roxanne bravely blundered onwards. "Of course not," she replied, "Most humans don't remember anything from before they were about three."

He looked at her strangely, "Yes, three days," he prompted, "That's not unusual."

"No," Roxanne insisted earnestly, beginning to wonder if this exchange was really happening at all, "Three _years_."

A dawning comprehension grew in his eyes. For a moment, his head drooped. A gloved hand passed wearily over his wide forehead. "Of course," he muttered, "It all makes sense now." He looked up at her. "And Metro Man?"

Roxanne felt truly dumbfounded. "I'm pretty sure he's like us. At least, he never told me otherwise."

Megamind, or Syx, she supposed to herself, approached her slowly. "You mean," he began slowly, "That your species doesn't remember anything from their most formative years?" Roxanne shook her head, fully beyond coherent speech at this point. His left eye twitched. "And, let me also gain some clarity here, do you also forget things as frequently as you actually claim? It's not some sort of expression of distrust or a game?"

Roxanne nodded. "I forget what I've had for breakfast some days," she whispered. "High school feels like a million years ago. The memories… they get fuzzy over time. We kind of… fill them in and edit them." She bit her lip, "Don't you?"

His head dropped. A bewildered chuckle burst out of him. "No, no, Miss Ritchie," he replied, shaking his head as he met her gaze, "I remember everything perfectly. Exactly as it was. Down to how I felt at that exact moment."

Roxanne swallowed numbly. A lump had risen in her throat. She was no stranger to Megamind's background story. Raised in a prison, problems whenever they attempted to send him to school. He'd been subject to intense scrutiny, bullying, social prejudices. She thought about how she had felt yesterday, and imagined having to relive that raw anger and betrayal every time she referenced the memory. She turned her head, unable to look at him. "How do you survive?" she gasped softly.

She felt his presence flit away from her side. Once again, he strode menacingly through the crowded warehouse. Now she truly did see him through different eyes. A shiver ran up her spine. How did you carry all of those emotions and memories, clear as the day they occurred with you? What kind of baggage did that amount to? Particularly in his case? Her head swam. She felt with increasing certainty that the Megamind that he presented to the world really was nothing but a façade. But then, who was he really? One could hardly carry all that with them and be nothing but goofy and loveable underneath. No, more likely the real… Syx… was so battered and scarred that… well, honestly, she wasn't sure she wanted to continue the line of thought. Not while following him with the intention of, apparently, staying with him.

"Bowg, bowg bowg," an electronic voice interrupted her reverie.

"Seventy-two," his voice was tired. "Leave her alone." He paused, considering something for a moment. "Seventy-two, access primary directive files, Bots - General."

"Bowg bowg," the Brainbot replied, its red dome crackling with electric energy.

"Restructure allowable entry files. Add "Ritchie, Roxanne" to acceptable persons listing. Remove "Ritchie, Roxanne" from useful persons listing."

Roxanne watched the exchange in fascination. "Verbal recognition programming?" she asked, when Megamind grew silent and the Brainbot finally floated away. Her voice carried more than a little respect and awe. She could recognize technical genius when she saw it, and the tiny exchange she had just witnessed had lifted her opinion of the Brainbots and their designer by more than a few degrees. She had always assumed that they were much simpler, and much less reliable. They used to crunch down on his hand, after all. But new information was suggesting that such muck ups were merely part of the act. Orchestrated for amusement and to keep his actual skills understated.

"What else?" he answered. "Programming changes can only be made by my particular vocal patterning," he added, "Just in case you get any clever ideas, Miss Ritchie."

"Roxanne," she corrected.

She heard his breath catch in his throat. "Pardon?" he inquired softly, his eyes turning to regard her with suspicion.

"My name is Roxanne. It's a little silly for you to keep calling me Miss Ritchie. Its too… formal. I'm not your kidnappee anymore. We're more like… friends, I guess." She finished a little lamely, her mouth dry as he raised an eyebrow at her critically.

"Is that how you would define our relationship," he paused, "Roxanne?" His mouth twisted around her name, in a way that somehow coupled a cynical sneer with a tone that Roxanne couldn't actually disagree with.

She shrugged in response, "I don't know what else to call it. You're literally the only person who is still willing to say anything remotely positive to me. Everyone else has turned their back on me." She paused, trying to control her breathing to avoid tears. She was simply stating a fact here, not trying to get sentimental. "Even my _mother_ doesn't want to hear from me."

She never did find out exactly what he thought of that, with his huge, alien brain. "Sir!" Minion's voice exclaimed. The strange, toothy fish in a mechanical gorilla suit had suddenly appeared at the far wall, which now only stood about ten feet away. "You're home!" he looked askance at Roxanne, "And you brought a visitor." He smiled, all sharp teeth and angles.

Megamind… Syx, Roxanne corrected herself again, replied with a grandiose wave, "Miss Ritchie," he paused, "Roxanne, will be staying with us for an undetermined amount of time."

"Excellent, Sir," Minion replied. "Ah, where did you want me to put her?"

Syx turned to stare at Roxanne, a smirk playing across his lips, "You can _put_ her," he emphasized slowly, "In my bedroom." He winked at her wickedly before continuing, "I'll sleep in one of my workrooms. I usually do, anyway."

For a moment, Roxanne had felt her blood pressure rise. Put her, indeed! And how dare he even suggest! But a quieter voice was busy pointing out the way her pulse had jumped at his wink. She was much less against the concept of being put in his bedroom than she wanted to be. In fact, there were parts of her that were wickedly plotting exactly how that particular new fantasy could play out. Roxanne shook her head to clear it of the stray thoughts. Horrible, dirty little thoughts, she chastised herself.

"Coming, Roxanne?" he was smirking at her again, his expression so self-satisfied that it was evident that he had read her like an open book. She flushed slightly, stamping forward to accept his outstretched hand.

She ground her teeth. "Another wall that isn't a wall?" she asked, bracing herself again.

"You're catching on, my dear," he replied, pulling her through the holograph. "Welcome to my humble home," he announced. They stood in a thoroughly modern looking kitchen. Black marble tiles lined the floor and the backsplash around the entire black marble counter top. Stainless steel appliances, all top of the line, complemented rich, cherry wood cabinetry. Roxanne stared around her sheepishly. "I didn't even know you could cook," she exclaimed.

"I don't," he replied flatly, "But Minion is excellent. He begged for a nice kitchen. I complied." Roxanne glanced over at him, curiosity piqued by his tone. He seemed to slink closer to her, "I reward those who serve me, Roxanne," he murmured, "I reward them very well." He lingered on the last two words, his dark tone promising things Roxanne couldn't begin to imagine.

A second shiver ran down Roxanne's spine. But this one had a decidedly different character. She felt the flush in her cheeks brighten to an all out blush. A puddle of warmth seemed to form in the pit of her stomach. There were very definite parts of her that wanted to inquire exactly how he would reward _her_, should she choose to serve him. Under such circumstances, the wicked voice in her mind suggested, she wouldn't even mind the servitude.

She followed him silently as he entered an initially dark hallway. Candelabra-like lights illuminated themselves as they made their way down the hall. Roxanne could only assume that there were motion-sensor controls hidden somewhere in the hall. They passed several closed doors. "Workrooms," he waved his hand dismissively. "Minion's room," the door was open to this one. Stunning underwater murals covered the walls, though there was essentially no actual furniture. "Really," Syx sounded indifferent to this, "He just wanted a room to paint in."

"Washroom," he gestured. His right hand giving the door a gentle push open. Dim lighting illuminated a fairly Spartan affair. Grey marble tiles and a marble washstand betrayed the simplicity of the stand-up shower and the rest of the room's facilities. "Though," he added lowly, "You'll probably stick to the on-suite."

Roxanne stared at him. She felt like she had been struck dumb or perhaps mute. How was she supposed to have anticipated such… luxury? Or taste? Everything she'd ever seen had been showy with ridiculous spikes and unnecessary "evil" flourishes. These… living quarters… seemed entirely at odds with everything she had come to expect. "On-suite?" she parroted.

His smirk widened. "Bedroom," he leaned backward against the door across the hallway. The bedroom was dark, illuminated mainly by a series of elegantly frosted lamps. The primary colour was a deep navy blue. The furniture was some unknowable dark wood. The bed was immense and comfortable looking.

"Really?" she said, finally recovering her snark. "You have a bed like _that_ and you fall asleep in your _workrooms_?"

He shrugged. "You'd be surprised," was his only response. "On-suite is through those doors," he gestured to the far side of the room, where a pair of black, frosted French doors stood only slightly ajar. "Feel free to unpack your things and freshen up. Minion will come get you for supper."

He left her standing alone, facing the exquisitely decorated room. She stepped inside, taking in the two powered down Brainbots nested on the navy covers of the bed. She dropped her overnight bag on the floor and walked over to the bed, sitting down on it with a soft exhalation. Her head spun slightly as she stared helplessly around the room. "I really don't think I'm in Kansas anymore," she muttered under her breath. There was just too much to process.


	6. Luxury

**Pale Blue Shadows**

Author's Notes:

helikesitheymikey – to answer your questions: yes, it updates all of the Brainbots (wireless internet-style connection); Roxie hasn't had a date in roughly two years… she's not on the pill (no point mucking with hormones if you don't need to, right?); and my biggest struggle here is to maintain the darkness. My other fics are normally pretty light and fluffy, so the temptation to add copious amounts of fluff has me editing sections in and out of existence with shocking rapidity. The thing I want you to bear in mind is that this _is_ a dark AU… and so, I doubt there will be much cooking with Minion. Though, on the other hand, I wouldn't put it past myself to go there anyway and just totally muck with the dark, evil atmosphere.

FluffyFurball and mommy2caitlyn – you guys are going to tempt me out of my diet. **Happily samples assorted baked goods and ice cream**

_Chapter 6: Luxury_

Roxanne woke with a start. Two glowing red "eyes" stared at her. She met the Brainbots' gazes steadily. "You guys know I'm allowed to be here, right?" she asked them uncertainly. She was curled up on herself on top of the dark satin covers of the bed. Apparently her attempts to process everything had simply overloaded her and the emotional toll of the past week had caught up.

"Bowg," one of the bots replied, electricity sparking through its blue dome as it rose lazily off the bed.

The other bot seemed to stare at her a moment longer. "Bowg," it said, its eye going black as it appeared to snuggle itself back into the hollow it had made in the covers. This one, with its red dome bereft of electric shocks, seemed only too happy to ignore her.

Roxanne looked to the other one. It floated near her uncertainly. "Bowg?" its tone seemed questioning. With a stretch, Roxanne rose from the bed, looping a hand through her bag's handles and hefting it lightly onto the bed.

"Maybe you can show me where to put my things?" she asked the bot quietly.

"Bowg bowg," the bot seemed to reply, its tentacles reaching out and taking over the task of opening the bag. Roxanne watched with bemusement as the little machine carefully removed each item from her bag, looked around the room, and then promptly zoomed said item to locations it deemed appropriate. She watched the bot open drawers, bowging disparagingly. Clothes were removed from drawers, refolded, and placed gently into others. Very quickly, the bot had replaced an entire drawer with her things. Questioningly, it pulled out several black dresses, staring from the dresses to Roxanne. "Bowg bowg," it informed her, jetting over to the closet, and hanging them with rapidity next to what she could only accept were Megamind's clothes.

She sighed, reaching into the bag and pulling out her toiletries. She supposed there was really nothing for it. At the moment, she was living with Megamind. In his room. How awkward.

She strolled over to the on-suite, pulling open a French door with one hand as she balanced several bottles with her hairbrush and her make-up bag. "Bowg bowg!" the bot scolded, zooming over to her and pulling the other door open, simultaneously looping tentacles around each of the items she carried. In an instant, Roxanne was grateful to the little bot. She was almost certain she would have dropped everything in her arms. Her entire body went slack, eyes wide as she attempted to reconcile the on-suite washroom with everything she had ever thought about Megamind.

The guy had a whirlpool bathtub the size of a small swimming pool. Black marble floors gleamed up at her. Stainless steel fixtures gleamed, reflected in the wall-to-wall mirrors. She stared around herself. "No, not even a little egotistical," she muttered sarcastically. The bot was gently placing her things down on a smooth, granite counter that ran the length of one wall. The washbasin was an immense, spotless glass bowl, rested on a black marble pedestal. Her surroundings were lavish, at minimum.

"Bowg?" the bot asked her, gesturing with tentacles at the tub.

Roxanne's eyes widened. "Seriously?" she asked the bot, "Can I?"

The bot shrugged, its tentacles already turning faucets. "Bowg?" it questioned thoughtfully, supplying her with a basket of various scented bath oils.

Roxanne looked at the variety while shaking her head. "This is crazy, you realize?" she addressed the robot, who waited patiently for her to make her selection. "This whole… everything. I'm going to wake up and wonder what the hell I had to drink to inspire these kinds of surroundings for Megamind's… what? House? Mansion?"

The bot bowged sympathetically, tentacles reaching for her and gently pulling at Roxanne's tank top. "Whoa," she cautioned the robot, stepping backwards, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, what do _you_ think you're doing?" She waved a finger at the robot as she continued to back up. "Are you trying to _undress_ me?"

The robot stared at her, its red eye unblinking. "Bowg?" it replied uncertainly. It brought up its programming instructions, reviewing them at lightning speed as it projected them as a holograph between itself and Roxanne.

Roxanne stared as the projection moved with lightning quickness. "Pause?" she asked, knowing that Megamind had informed her that they only responded to him for programming.

The bot froze its projection. "Bowg?" it inquired, its tone sounding despairing to Roxanne's ears.

Roxanne approached the hologram, staring at the dense programming language. Directories, menus, and file names streamed down one side of the display. "Hygiene protocols?" she murmured, reading this particular subroutine's header. She scanned the text, mentally thanking herself for taking programming in high school. Sometimes these things paid off after all. "Uh," she said after a long moment. "You know what?" she turned to the bot. "You just do whatever it is you normally do for him. I'll just shut up. Evil queen, right?" she smiled helplessly, "Might as well get used to being pampered."

* * *

><p>It was probably several hours later, but Roxanne felt like a new person. She sighed contentedly. The bot was a truly amazing invention. And who knew that tentacles could give scalp massages? Roxanne pulled herself from the tub unabashedly as the bot wrapped the softest, most luxurious towel around her she had ever seen. "Bowg?" it zipped over to her makeup bag.<p>

"Seriously?" Roxanne replied. "You do makeup too?"

"Bowg." The bot floated back over to her, the bag in one tentacle, as others began removing the various cosmetic implements she'd bothered to bring.

Roxanne lifted an eyebrow. "I better not come out looking like him," she cautioned. The robot didn't reply, simply bumping against her to encourage her to sit down on the raised dais that surrounded the tub. "My face is in your hands," she relented, "Well, tentacles."

She watched the bot work in the mirror behind it. The bot was a master. Perfect smoky eyes left her looking dark and alluring and sinfully red lips curved into a smile. Her eyelashes had never curled or lengthened so expertly under her own applications, or those of the station's mediocre hair and makeup staff. "I'm impressed," she began, cut off by the bot's waving tentacles. "What now?" she asked in wonderment, as the bot pulled out her black nail polish.

"Bowg bowg," it seemed to beg excitedly.

Roxanne stared at the bot, "Knock yourself out," she told it. Within minutes she was melting under a foot massage. "Good god, you are a fantastic invention," she moaned in pleasure, extending her leg and pulling her toes en pointe. Her toenails glittered black, matching her nails. She'd never felt so pampered in her life. She wondered if this was how movie stars felt. No wonder Megamind was always so sure of himself, if he got pampered like this every day. She sighed again, pulling the soft towel a little more tightly around her body where it was starting to slip. "I could learn to live like this."

"I'm glad to hear it," a silken voice said from the doorway.

Roxanne stiffened, her eyes flying open in surprise. "How long have you been standing there?" she demanded.

"Long enough," he replied. The smirk was wider than ever, and Roxanne wondered if the goosebumps on her arms were simply because she was finally getting cold after her hot bath, or if there was another reason behind them. "Fourty-two," he commanded, "Please get Miss Ritchie some clothes for dinner."

Without any hesitation, the bot flew from the bathroom with such speed that Roxanne nearly tipped from her perch. She wrapped her arms tightly in front of her towel-clad body and watched him watch her. "What?" she snapped, "See something you like?"

If anything, his smirk widened. He straightened from where he leaned against the door frame, strolling over to her with a distinct lack of concern. "And if I do?" he whispered, leaning forward just enough to put his face level with hers. Roxanne felt shaken. Was this part of the game? When exactly was it that he had upped the ante on her? She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the flutter in her stomach as his green eyes raked over her seated form. She licked her lips despite herself. With a sense of loss, she watched him pull himself straight again. He turned to leave the room, "You should let the bot do your makeup from now on," he tossed back lazily. "You look much more the part of an evil queen."

Roxanne felt her mouth go dry. She caught her reflection in the mirrors as the bot zipped back into the bathroom, pulling the doors closed behind it as it drew one of her black dresses off the hanger it had only recently placed it on. She let the bot dress her. It was amazing how little of a problem she had with it, once she'd gotten over that initial shock. Her mind was too busy processing both what Megamind had said and the reflection that stared back at her. The bot bowged softly as it fussed around her. Some sort of product worked its way into Roxanne's hair as the bot blow-dried and brushed and styled with speedy ease. "You can do hair too?" she asked it, only momentarily surprised. God only knew what Megamind had programmed it with or why. Or maybe the bot was self-updating with its memory banks. Perhaps she'd ask Megamind later. Maybe she'd even get an answer.

The woman who stared back at her when the bot finally floated away, freeing her off its tentacled grasp, was entirely unfamiliar to Roxanne. The dress was one she had bought two years ago to wear at a station party. She'd only worn it the once. She had no idea how she had ended up packing it, or why. It was a short, sleek, strapless number. Simple, but sophisticated in the way the fabric bunched and bundled to give the impression of a long piece of black satin wound and twisted about her figure. Her hair was styled in such a way that her short hair fluffed and spiked its way to fashionable, framing her face but looking exciting at the same time. Her eyes stared back at her, dark and mysterious. Overall, Roxanne was certain she was staring at some yet-unknown movie star. Maybe a foreign one. Definitely one with lots of money. Her breath caught in her throat.

She stepped forward, and into a pair of black heels she was almost entirely certain she had _not_ packed. Strappy stilettos which she had also only worn once. She'd been kidnapped that day and the simple indignity of barely being able to stand on her own when her ankles were bound had sent them careening to the back of her closet the moment she had gotten home. She stared down at them. "How did they get here, I wonder?" she asked the bot dryly, her lips telling a different story.

She looked back up at her reflection. "Bowg," the bot insisted, pushing her around to another mirror, unbroken by the counter top.

"I look… amazing," Roxanne gasped, staring at herself up and down. A wicked smile flitted it way onto her lips. "I'm supposed to, aren't I?" she asked the robot, mischief in her voice.

"Bowg," the bot replied, ducking innocently and flaring a brighter blue for a moment. "Bowg bowg."

Roxanne reached out and petted the bot's dome. "Thank you, Fourty-Two," she murmured. "I'll do my best to live up to how you've made me look." She raised her eyes again to her reflection. In some ways, she didn't want to tear her gaze away from the figure in the mirror. She had never looked so good. Never so wicked, either. The black dress clung to her curves. Her blue eyes flashed in the mirror.

Megamind had teased her just minutes ago. He had been absolutely mysterious and dismissive by turns since he'd brought her back her. The tone of his voice… the flutter rose in her belly again, as she struggled to squash it. She stared at the mirror. Was it, maybe, a terrible thing to contemplate, to give him a taste of his own medicine?


	7. Revenge

**Pale Blue Shadows**

Author's Note:

At this point, I'd like to mention that I've borrowed ideas from a number of other writers. Megamind's real name, Syx, is one I've seen tossed around a lot, so it felt right. "Payback is a bitch" is a phrase borrowed from someone's title (I'm sorry, I'm not exactly sure who… but the phrase got stuck and I love it being here). Any other similarities between persons living, dead, or created probably also belong to someone else. But I'm not exactly making money here, so I figure I'm forgiven…

_Chapter 7: Revenge_

Roxanne emerged from the bathroom with a strange confidence. She let her long legs carry her smoothly across the marble floors, stilettos clicking lightly on the stone. She trained her eyes on his, watching for the slightest reaction. There it was, an almost imperceptible widening of his eyes, a minute widening of his pupils. She moved in front of him, pausing just before where he sat with unnatural stillness in a black leather armchair. "Why don't you take a picture?" she suggested darkly, "It'll last longer."

His gaze rose to meet her eyes. "Oh, don't think I wouldn't, Miss Ritchie," he replied, a smirk playing across his lips.

Roxanne felt her mouth go dry yet again. The things he insinuated! Did he even realize what… She smirked back at him, leaning just ever so slightly forward, her black-nailed hands resting on the chair's arms, effectively pinning him into the seat. "It's just Roxanne," she whispered, "Remember?" The dress revealed no small amount of cleavage, and she knew that leaning the way she was would give him more of a show than she'd given anyone in years. She straightened, sashaying towards the bedroom door. "Isn't it dinner?" she inquired innocently.

She watched him nod mutely, his hands curled tightly into fists as he remained frozen in place. Her smirked widened. "Aren't you… coming?" she asked, inflection colouring the question in shades of sensuality. She watched him like a hawk. Right there, the tips of his ears had flushed several shades more pink.

This was just too fun.

* * *

><p>She could feel his gaze boring into her back as she stepped lightly down the hallway. He was glaring at her. She was certain of it. He knew exactly what she was doing, and apparently he wasn't really as fond of being mockingly flirted with as he was of doling it out. Roxanne grinned wickedly. Payback was a bitch. And revenge was a dish best served reheated by the microwave of evil.<p>

Roxanne swayed her hips ever so slightly as she stepped into the gleaming kitchen. The smell was mouthwatering, and for a moment, she forgot the game. "Oh my god, Minion," she groaned softly, "That smells _amazing_."

"Oh!" the fish exclaimed, his hands rising slightly from whatever he was preparing at the counter. He spun around, his eyes widening for a moment as he absorbed her new look, and the dark glare his boss was giving her. "Miss Ritchie," he sputtered, "You look… uhh, lovely."

Roxanne laughed, a soft sound that caught slightly in her throat. "I look evil, Minion," she replied, spinning lightly on her toes in the stiletto heels. From the corner of her eye, she caught Megamind watching. She regained her composure and smiled a little wider, "I kinda like it," she admitted.

Minion nodded thoughtfully, "I think it suits you," he agreed. He threw a wary glance at his boss before clearing his throat. "So, dinner is ready to be served," he continued, gesturing towards a set of recessed French doors Roxanne had missed spotting the first time through. "If you would be so kind," he motioned toward the doors, turning only momentarily to scoop up a pair of dishes, each covered by a silver dome.

"With pleasure," Roxanne stepped toward the doors, holding one open for Minion as he carried in the plates. She gasped softly, staring at the room before her. The dining room was on par with the rest of the rooms she had seen. Deep red walls were complemented by heavy, black curtains. A fireplace, unlit at the moment, dominated the far wall. A rich, mahogany dining table that would have better sat ten than two filled the space.

"It's beautiful," Roxanne murmured, her eyes absorbing the two Brainbot attendants who were industriously polishing a pair of wine glasses and uncorking a bottle of Merlot. Minion set each plate down, and stood apart from the table. With obvious pride he gestured toward the setting, "Dinner," he announced, "Is served."

In silence, Megamind strode to the head of the table, and while sitting, snatched up a napkin, which had ever so delicately been folded into a swan. The swan melted into a mess of folded fabric in his hands. He glared at his gloves. A bot whooshed to his side and ever so carefully pulled the gloves from his fingers. "Bowg," it muttered softly, dipping in a manner Roxanne could only describe as a bow.

Roxanne approached the table much more slowly, her eyes drinking in the scene. It looked like it had been prepared for royalty. The whole scene with the bot and the gloves… Roxanne looked up at Megamind, who seemed to be studiously ignoring her. Here, in his own domain, away from the staged circuses he presented, he was king. The second bot pulled the chair at the foot of the table out for her. "Thank you," she whispered gratefully, settling into her seat. She'd always thought the whole "evil queen" bit was hyperbole. Her eyes were wide now as Minion lifted the cover off Megamind's dish and her Brainbot lifted hers.

Roxanne stared down hungrily. A perfect slice of beef tenderloin, seared to perfection, rested on a nest of arugula and baby spinach. A spiraled mound of mashed potatoes rose alongside, a roasted vegetable ratatouille splayed artistically below. Her eyes were wide as she breathed deeply. The room was silent.

She lifted her eyes to see Megamind regarding her with recollected composure. In one pale blue hand, his crystal wine glass dangled lazily. "A toast," he prompted, a smirk once again on his lips, "To evil."

Roxanne lifted her glass and contemplated him for a moment. "To freedom," she replied, her eyes sparkling as she lifted the glass to her lips. She maintained eye contact with him as they both sipped from their glasses. His eyes had narrowed at that, suspicion and surprise warring for control.

She let him take the first bite. "Excellent as usual, Minion," he told the fish, who turned just a little pink, obviously pleased with himself.

Roxanne cut into the tenderloin, the meat practically melting beneath her sharp knife. A flood of red-tinted juices stained the bed of baby greens. The tenderloin was perfect. Still just a touch of rawness through the very middle of the slice, a rich pink throughout. Roxanne lifted the bite of meat delicately to her lips. Her eyes rolled closed. "This is…" she moaned softly, "The best thing I've ever put in my mouth."

She opened her eyes to see Minion's cheeks turn a bright red as he bashfully dipped in his bowl. Megamind regarded her with an evil spark in his eyes, "Just wait until you try dessert," he replied in a low tone which only just carried itself to her ears at the end the table.

Roxanne felt the flush creep up into her cheeks, but chose to ignore it. This was easily the best meal (and best wine) she had ever tasted. And she was ravenously hungry. "I'll go finish the desserts," Minion said, sounding pleased as he exited the dining room. The bots hovered near their master, their sharp red eyes monitoring the levels of water and wine in their glasses, filling them when they judged it necessary.

Roxanne finished eating with a contented sigh. "Do you eat like this every night?" she asked, feeling utterly spoiled.

He shook his head slowly, "Not while I'm in prison."

Roxanne stared at him, pulling herself out of her seat and walking down to his end of the table. His emerald eyes watched her with amusement as she settled into the chair at his left. "Why on earth do you let them take you back there?" she demanded. "This place… everything you've done here…" she gestured around the room, from the empty plates to the furniture to the expertly done makeup on her face, "I know you don't have to spend any time in there if you don't want to, so why bother?" She stared at him evenly, waiting for an answer. "Why let yourself get treated like a criminal when you could be here getting treated like… like a king?"

He leaned his head towards her slightly, his eyes bearing into her own. "Because what would be amusing about that?" he replied lightly, "What fun is there to being royalty when you've no one to rule with?"

Roxanne wasn't certain how to reply to that. She licked her lips nervously, suddenly uncertain now that she was only inches away from her supposed partner in crime. Sitting this close, and really looking, she found herself mesmerized by the depths of his eyes, the angles of his face, the sharpness of his teeth. He was entirely unlike anyone she had ever known. Alien, in every sense of the word.

One of the Brainbots nudged her shoulder, a tentacle wrapped delicately around the stem of her wine glass. "Bowg?" it questioned.

She smiled at the bot, "Thank you," she murmured, accepting the glass.

"Why do you do that?" Roxanne looked back into Megamind's inquiring eyes.

"Do what?" she asked, leaning back into the surprisingly comfortable carved chair. She took a sip of her wine, letting the rich liquid run over her tongue slowly.

"Thank them." His eyes were darkly earnest, truly puzzled. "They don't have feelings. They can hardly be expected to care if you are grateful or not."

Roxanne shrugged, "Can't hurt to be kind to the loyal subjects, can it?" She let a smile play across her lips playfully. "I thought you were the one who rewarded those who served you," she took another sip of wine nonchalantly. "Saying thank you is just a very basic sort of reward, really."

He looked like he was considering her answer. "And would a thank you be enough of a reward for you?" he inquired lazily.

Roxanne snorted slightly, relaxing further back into her seat. "Me?" she stifled a laugh. "Ha, no, fat chance. I'm never satisfied."

"Never?"

Roxanne took another sip of wine and a deep breath. "Oh Roxanne," she feigned, drawing an arm over her face (though careful not to smudge), "You're just never satisfied. No man is ever good enough for you. How can I ever expect grandkids?" She dropped her arm. "My mother," she explained flatly. "How can you not be happy with your job, Roxanne? You're practically at the top already." She sighed, slumping slightly, "What do you mean you don't want to date Metro Man? What are you thinking, challenging the mayor to reveal the budgeting shortfall? Why do you always need everything to be perfect, Roxanne? Why can't you just accept things the way they are, Roxanne?" she waved a hand dismissively. "Nine out of ten of the people I used to call my friends."

He was still leaning forward, apparently fascinated by the movement of her mouth. His own hand held the wine bottle that refilled her glass. "That sounds more like no one else has your vision, Roxanne."

She smiled at him, a sincere smile. "At least one person in the world recognizes that," she sighed, letting him fill her glass. She stared at the flow of rich, red liquid. "I didn't even know you drank," she murmured, shifting her gaze back to him.

"There's a lot you don't know about me," he replied lightly, shedding no more light on the situation.

"And," Minion re-entered the room, "May I present dark chocolate mousse for dessert?"

Roxanne sat up in her seat. "Chocolate?" she inquired brightly, a faint buzz from the wine freeing some of her inhibitions about both calories and appearing too eager about anything in front of super villains.

"Imported straight from Belgium," Minion replied, setting a crystal bowl before her. The dark mousse was topped with a sprig of mint and several raspberries.

"You have a gift!" Roxanne exclaimed, her eyes bright with unabashed joy.

Minion blushed a deeper shade of red as he shrugged. "I'm, ah, going to clean up," he excused himself, all the while a very contented expression on his face.

Roxanne lifted the delicate little spoon from the bowl and stared lovingly at the rich, fluffy substance that rested upon it. She let her eyelids flutter closed as she wrapped her lips around the spoon. She moaned softly in contentment. "Mmmmm," she exclaimed softly, her eyes opening slowly. "How do you get away with being so thin?" she wondered aloud, "If there was chocolate mousse around all the time I'd probably never be able to resist."

In her love affair with the rich dessert, Roxanne failed to notice the effect she was having. She could sense indistinctly Megamind's presence by her side, but she had no way of knowing that his eyes were now quite literally glued to her lips and the spoon which she was so ardently licking. Caught up in her rapturous enjoyment of the mousse, she failed to catch the slight tremble in his limbs when she had moaned in pleasure over the dessert.

"I lied," she admitted, finally cognizant of the world around her. "_That_ was the best thing I've ever had in my mouth."

His hand was quite literally shaking, Roxanne noticed with alarm, her eyes flying to meet his. Unreadable. Roxanne wasn't certain how to interpret this. Obviously _something_ she had done had had some sort of effect on him. She couldn't know just how hard it was for him to resist at that moment. Or exactly what sort of battle waged in that brilliant, alien mind of his as he struggled to understand his attraction to her.

Roxanne leaned back into the chair again, comfortably stuffed. She let the wine weave its languid spell over her and let her eyes slide shut. One sandal dangled from her foot as she crossed her legs, slouching just enough to be comfortable. With false disinterest, she look up at him. There was still a shadow of a smirk on his lips, even though his eyes now freely raked over her body.

Roxanne set her empty wine glass down on the table, smothering a yawn. "Guess I better go to bed," she admitted, stretching slowly, regretting having to leave the game for the night. She was doing so well too. She was fairly certain she even had the upper hand at the moment.

"I'll walk you to your room." His voice was low, quietly considering something.

A slight rush ran through Roxanne as she absorbed the fact that he had called his room hers. She let him guide her, a still ungloved hand placed perhaps even unconsciously on the small of her back. She cast glances at him from the corner of her eyes as they walked down the hallway. At the door to the bedroom, she paused, leaning back against it to regard him coyly. A small smirk tweaked her lips, "I had a great night," she murmured, feeling for all the world like she had just been on a date.

He leaned forward just enough for her to catch his scent. She felt her heart skip, and wondered what on earth was wrong with her. She caught the look in his eyes and realized that his breathing was as ragged as her own. So it wasn't so much what was wrong with her, but what was wrong with the both of them. Roxanne found herself leaning towards him, her face angled just so.

She caught herself, her cheek grazing over his ever so lightly. "Goodnight, Syx," she whispered in his ear, spinning on her heel and disappearing behind the bedroom door before she let herself go any further.

A warm feeling rose up within her as a wicked smile broke across her features. His ears had flared red at the last, his eyes suddenly wide and furious. The laughter burst from her in wicked peals. He'd been right all along. She really was meant to be evil.


	8. Hatred

**Pale Blue Shadows**

Author's Note:

helikesittheymikey - Thank you, thank you, thank you for introducing the "Megamind could be brilliant one moment and a braindead penguin in the next" quote to my life. It expresses my feelings about him in this chapter exactly and makes me feel like I'm actually staying true to character, despite the fact that many things may not be in the strictest sense.

Karen B. Jones - I think this chapter will answer your question. ;)

_Chapter 8: Hatred_

Roxanne stumbled out of the bedroom, her hair a mess. Forty-two floated by her elbow, bowging in concern. "I'm fine," she muttered, "Just… need coffee to function." She made it down the hallway to the kitchen, a steaming, large pot of coffee sitting freshly brewed on a deluxe, timed coffee maker. "Oh thank you, God," she murmured, opening cupboard doors in search of a mug.

"You're welcome," Megamind's smug voice came from directly behind her, causing Roxanne to literally jump.

She sputtered, spinning around, only to find herself nose to nose with him as he raised an eyebrow at her. She glared back, her spine resting against the edge of the counter. He looked immaculate, as always when not involved in some plan gone wrong (probably staged), a mug of coffee clasped in one of his own hands. Apparently he'd beaten her to the punch. And somehow managed to change despite his clothes being in the room she was sleeping in. Roxanne chose not to investigate that idea too much further. Instead, she brought her arms up across her breasts, hiding their currently (stupidly) bra-less state under the skin-tight black tank top she'd worn to bed. Come to think of it, her yoga pants were pretty tight too. Was it just her, or was tight clothing suddenly too revealing?

He leaned forward, the hand holding the coffee transferring the mug to the counter. His other arm went the other way, pinning her to the counter. Roxanne felt her breath draw itself raggedly through her lungs as she inhaled rapidly. "Here," he said, his green eyes boring into her own. For a moment, she stared at him uncomprehendingly. The corner of his lips twitched. He grabbed her elbow, pulling one arm away from her chest. Roxanne felt a thrill of trepidation speed through her.

He took a step back and forced a mug into her now free hand.

Roxanne blinked dumbly at the mug. "Oh," she said, staring at it, memorizing its details just so she could avoid making eye contact with the cocky alien. "Right," she said suddenly, "Coffee." She grabbed the coffee pot handle as if it were a life line, pouring her mug full. The tantalizing smell of coffee filled her senses. She leaned into the steam, inhaling deeply.

"Cream?" Roxanne opened her eyes in shock. He looked for all the world like the cat that got the canary.

Roxanne ground her teeth as she settled at one of the high chairs placed near the kitchen's centre island. She focused on her coffee. He slid into the chair beside her, still smirking. She decided to be the better person and to go with polite. "How did you sleep?" she inquired, focusing her voice to be as open and without insinuation as possible.

"Terribly," he replied, sipping his coffee carelessly. He paused and stared at it in disgust. One hand snaked down into the cupboard by his knees. A box of sugar cubes was drawn up and placed on the counter. "I'm stuck on the particle decelerator."

Roxanne wrinkled her nose as she watch him drop not one or two, but ten sugar cubes into his coffee, "Particle decelerator? Isn't that the one that failed three weeks ago?"

He stopped stirring his spoon long enough to glare at her. "Yes, that one," he stared down at his coffee, "Infernal piece of lousy programming and…"

"Did Minion order the right parts this time?" Roxanne asked.

His green eyes screamed bloody murder at her. "Yes, we have the right parts this time," he sneered. "And yes, I have it calibrated. And yes, its plugged in. Any other questions?"

Roxanne looked contemplative for a moment. "Have you reprogrammed the computer with the settings for the new parts?"

"Yes, I…" Megamind froze. He looked thoughtful for a moment. His eyes were now free of any malice towards her as he leapt off the chair, grabbed Roxanne by the shoulders and placed a firm kiss on her forehead. She reeled for a moment, almost losing her balance when he let go of her to bolt back down the hallway. "You're a genius, Roxanne!" his voice called back at her.

Roxanne stared at her coffee, her mind still processing the exchange. "Just imagine how unstoppable I'll be when I finish drinking you," she told the beverage.

* * *

><p>In the end, she only changed insofar as to slip on a bra under the tank top. She wasn't feeling particularly inspired today. She figured maybe it had something to do with Megamind's rapid morning mood swings. She wound her way out of the bedroom, Forty-two bowging sadly as she moved through the doorway.<p>

"What?" she turned to the bot, "Can't you leave the room?"

The bot stared at her with its single red eye. It shifted slowly from left to right, "Bowg," it replied.

Roxanne gave it a hard look. "What if I ask you to follow me?"

The bot snapped to attention, a flurry of electricity rumbling across its dome. "Bowg!" it cried joyfully.

Roxanne rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, c'mon then. You can tell me when we hit the room your master's in, ok?" The bot zoomed ahead of her by a few doors, freezing and pointing with several tentacles at the second on the right from where she stood. "I'm impressed," she told the bot as she caught up with it. Without a moment's hesitation she twisted the door handle, letting the door fall open.

Megamind stood in front of a panel of screens, a series of controls and various switches and flashing lights beneath them. Something that looked surprisingly like a laser tag gun rested on a stand to his left. The gun was pointed down a lengthy tube which ran further into the room, which seemed to extend interminably long. The whole apparatus was separated from the control panels by what appeared to be a wall of Plexiglass. Roxanne strolled in, motioning Forty-two in with her. "Whatcha doing?" she announced, staring around herself curiously.

It was the first time she'd made Megamind jump. Which only made them even for the day, Roxanne figured. "What are you doing in here?" he hissed at her, "Super top secret research is being performed."

Roxanne shrugged, "Yeah, but I'm the one who told you how to fix it, so lets just say I'm here in case you need more help with the troubleshooting." She smiled sweetly. Forty-two bowged softly. "So get back to programming," she shooed him back at the console, "I want to see more of your weird programming language."

Megamind stared at her suspiciously. "When have you seen my programming language?" He looked from her to the bot that floated by her side. "Why is Forty-two here?" he asked her slowly.

Roxanne looked from him to the bot and back. "He was lonely," she explained.

Megamind strode over to the bot. He looked at it hard. "Forty-two," he insisted quietly, "What does your programming say about leaving your designated assignment?"

The bot seemed to shrink in on itself. "Bowg," it explained, "Bowg, bowg?"

"Leave him alone," Roxanne said dryly, "I told him to come with me."

Megamind turned his head and raised an eyebrow at that. "Now, see that's the part I'm having trouble with," he stared hard at the bot, "Forty-two isn't supposed to take anyone else's orders."

Roxanne looked at him askance, "But Forty-two listened to me all day yesterday. You didn't find any of that weird."

"No," Megamind exhaled slowly, "Yesterday," he enunciated, "Forty-two was running on standard toiletry usage programming. What did you do?"

Roxanne shrugged, "I didn't do anything."

Megamind took a few steps towards her. "Roxanne," he explained slowly, hands tented together, "Somehow, between when you came here yesterday and now, you managed to get a look at my programming language and shanghaied one of my most trusted Brainbots." He ground his teeth as he approached her, "You did something."

Roxanne shook her head insistently, "I did nothing! When Forty-two was about to get all handsy… tentacley… when it decided to _undress_ me for my bath, I made it stop. He got confused. He displayed the relevant section of code to scan it to see where he'd gone wrong. I just happened to watch."

His jaw was working silently now. "And… I mean, it was going pretty fast," she sputtered, "So I told it to pause," she broke off, realization crossing her face. "Did I do something?" she asked sheepishly.

"Arrgh," Megamind's head fell into his hands as he stepped away from her and towards the free wall. He rested his forehead against it lightly. "You've been here less than twenty-four hours and you've managed to hack the programming controls," he admitted in frustration.

Roxanne looked from Forty-two to Megamind. "Umm, maybe you could solve that problem by having them internally display the code when they get confused instead of posting it up so the whole world can see?"

A soft thump signaled Megamind lifting his head momentarily to let it thunk against the wall. "You're complicating everything," he said softly.

Roxanne was utterly confused. "I don't understand," she said softly, "I mean, I couldn't have messed anything up _too_ badly. I haven't studied any programming in years, and it was only Java and VB, its not like I have any impressive hacking skills..." There was another soft thump. Roxanne took a step towards him, concern on her features. "Mega… Syx?" she asked, her hand reaching out to touch his shoulder.

He spun on her suddenly, his green eyes flashing violence. "As a rule," he began, his voice shaking with fury, "Humans are stupid, unbearably so. And Metro Man isn't much better. But there's always some little thing that I manage to… to overlook or leave undone or which simply doesn't make any _sense_ that causes it to go completely wrong." He paused, glaring at her, "And you _always_ know what it is."

Roxanne bit her lip. Alright, so apparently not every flub was staged… she tried her best to process everything. He was furious at her for knowing that missing ingredient to his schemes, he flirted with her, he made offers to her that she become his "evil queen," what he meant by that designation exactly never being fully defined. Was it possible… that he had no idea what he wanted either?

"Isn't that why I'm here?" Roxanne said finally. "You offered me the position of evil queen, doesn't that entail providing some help with the evil scheming?"

He looked a little shocked, "You're actually planning on staying."

The statement sat heavily in the space between them. Roxanne blinked. As far as she was concerned, there wasn't really any going back at this point. The police had witnessed her escaping with him. She hadn't turned on the news yet, but she could only imagine what was being said at this point. And he'd told her there was no going back. She'd been willing to accept that much. There was no returning to her old life. Truth to be told, Roxanne Ritchie, reporter for channel 8 news, famed kidnappee, and all around good girl, had died the same night as Mr. Edwards had.

She supposed, that really, she didn't need to stay here. She could leave town, assume another name or identity. She could take one of Megamind's disguise watches and go… well, pretty much anywhere. She could be anyone.

Roxanne turned away from him, his expression still one of shock. Probably as much at himself as at her. "I need a television," she said to Forty-two softly.

"Bowg, bowg," the bot replied, floating out the door and back to the bedroom.

Roxanne half-turned, extending a hand. "I need to see something," she said heavily, "And I need you…" she swallowed hard. In the end, the phrase just hung there unfinished. She very nearly breathed a sigh of relief when Megamind slipped his thin blue hand into her own. She clutched at it desperately as she pulled him with her down the hall.

Once through the bedroom door, the unlikely pair watched the little bot bump against a paneled section of wall, triggering some sort of mechanism. A large flat-screen television was revealed and Roxanne pressed the power button with her free hand, a wary expression on her face as she jumped channels down to number eight.

The horrible blonde reporter was onscreen, her stuck up nose wiggling as she spoke, "Today's breaking news may be the worst for Roxanne Ritchie, fugitive from justice." The camera panned out to reveal that the blonde reporter stood next to Metro Man in front of city hall. "With me today is Metro Man, making a last plea to Ritchie, as the city's law enforcement officers struggle to find the ex-reporter."

Roxanne felt her throat tighten. "So I am fired," she murmured softly. There really was no going back now. Ever. Reporting had been her single career goal since she was ten years old. And they'd taken that away from her.

"Roxanne," Metro Man's handsome, earnest face took over the camera frame. "I don't know if you're watching, but I really hope you're considering what is happening. I'm… I'm not certain I believe all the charges being leveled against you…"

"Because I told you they were lies," she hissed at the television, forgetting Megamind's presence even as she clenched his hand even tighter in her own.

"But this is your last chance to make things right. You have until midnight tonight, and then I'm afraid I'm going to have to come after you myself. You can't run from the law, Roxanne. No matter how special you think you are, you will be held accountable for your actions."

"Special? " Roxanne whispered hoarsely, "Special?" Her teeth grated together. "Special!" she exclaimed, raking her free hand through her hair roughly. "Who the hell does he think he is…"

"By fleeing police, you set yourself into a different category than the one I had always placed you. By fleeing with _him_, you condemned yourself to the public slander. By fleeing justice, you've marked yourself as a criminal. If you flee from me, you'll find yourself in prison for life."

Roxanne shook with rage. "He asked me out once," Roxanne said quietly, her eyes focused painfully on the television screen. "We had dinner together. It was probably one of the most awkward things I've ever done. We seemed to have all of nothing to say to each other." A lump rose in her throat, "So I played nosy reporter, and I got him to tell me all about what it was like to grow up being different. And apparently, it was awesome. But really lonely. So, even though there was nothing romantic there, we became friends." She chewed her upper lip, "I don't think I can count how many evenings I wasted listening to him talk about himself and all the little injustices he has to survive." Her tone was darkening, becoming bitter.

"Apparently, signing autographs and having everyone love you is tedious. Apparently, being a hero is a massively difficult burden to bear. And god forbid you mention the early grey hairs." Roxanne braced herself, her eyes closing of their own accord, "He said," she struggled for breath, "He said, 'Roxie, you've been maybe the best friend I've ever had. You ever need anything, anything at all, you know you can count on me to take your side.' That's what he said. Anything. Anything at all."

Roxanne felt her jaw quivering. She turned to face Megamind, "You know how long he waited after the first reports came out to show up?" His green eyes stared at her impassively, listening entirely without judgment. "Over a day." She bit her lip again, "You know what he did?" her voice rose an octave, "He showed up on my balcony and told me that it would be better if he didn't know me anymore. Just that. Just disappointment and judgmental asshole-ness. It's not like people don't drive intoxicated all the fucking time." She freed Megamind's hand with sudden rapidity. "Do you know how many DUI's were handed out last year?" she demanded, pacing now, her hands tangling in her short hair. "Hundreds. Including five to Mr. Edwards alone. I know because I was the one who was told not to mention that story. Five times."

"And Metro Man," she laughed bitterly, "Oh god, if they only knew how much he…" her voice strangled in her throat. "The number of people he fails to save per year vastly outweighs the number all of the city's villains and criminals kill, combined. And why? Because he needs "downtime." Do you think he doesn't know when someone is getting hit by a car or battered in domestic abuse?" She challenged Megamind, "He _hears_ it. All of it, unless he purposely chooses to block it out. Which he does."

"But we don't report that kind of thing. Not about friends, Roxie," she exclaimed breathlessly. She grabbed the nearest thing to hand, a small clock and threw it with all her might against the wall. The case flew off of it, bits of wiring exploded outwards. She ground her teeth, turning to face Megamind. "I _hate_ him," her tone was dark, "I _want_ you to destroy him." She paused, "_I_ want to destroy him." She stared at Megamind, her choice crystal clear, "So, yeah, I am actually planning on staying. If you'll let me."


	9. Playing With Fire

**Pale Blue Shadows**

Author's Note:

I had help with the evil invention names: http colon slash slash www dot persistentrealities dot com slash ?p=28.

_Chapter 9: Playing With Fire_

Roxanne would never know just how hard Syx had struggled to stay put as her breast heaved with suppressed rage and her eyes flashed with a hunger for violence and destruction that mirrored his own. Roxanne would never realize how desperately he had battled his own feelings, or for exactly how long. She would never really understand all of the reasons why it would be a horribly terrible thing for him to give in to the emotions and desires that simmered under his pale blue skin.

She would never know, because in the moment Roxanne declared her desire for him to destroy Metro Man, his own desires flared to life, making it simply too impossible for him to think clearly. She would never realize these things because the second she said she was actually going to stay here with him, his feet began to move of their own accord. She would never understand the reasons they shouldn't be together because his lips crashed down upon hers, claiming them as his private territory. She would never understand because he was definitely not going to be the one to tell her.

He was already in her personal space when she had finished raging against Metro Man. She blinked rapidly, uncertain when exactly he had stepped so close to her. She wondered dully if he was going to be upset about the clock. Though, she supposed that next to a particle decelerator, a clock was probably child's play. She didn't expect his arms to snake around her and pull her roughly towards him.

But the second he did, her eyes fluttered closed in expectation. His lips met hers violently, and Roxanne gasped in surprise at the sudden pressure. A gasp which he exploited entirely to his benefit. Roxanne clawed her hands up his shoulders as his tongue ran across hers, possessively claiming her mouth for his own. A surge of despairing hunger ran through her as she caved to his touch. Her knees felt weak.

She pulled him closer. She moved against him, her body begging for more of him. Her lips attacked his with equal force as a wild sense of need filled her. She'd wanted him for years, she realized now, the thought an arrow of reason amidst a sea of confused, hungry emotion. Maybe it was for the worst, but when the one reasonable thought in your mind is just how long you've wanted something, the only reasonable thing to do is surrender completely.

Roxanne pressed closer to him as his arms pulled her even tighter. Their tongues battled for dominance. His taste was intoxicating. The violence in his affections had her body aflame. One of his hands fisted tightly in her hair and pulled just ever so lightly. An incomprehensible sound left Roxanne's throat. Her eyes opened to see him gazing down into her face, a burning look of triumph in his eyes. He pulled again, just a slight tug, experimenting. Roxanne clutched desperately at him, pulling him closer as she struggled against his grip.

His lips touched the angle of her face, where jaw bone melted into graceful neck. A second inarticulate cry escaped her. He traced the lines of her neck with his lips. They were soft, gently teasing her sensitized nerve endings. His hands slid to her shoulders, running softly up and down her bare arms, triggering every cell in her body into joining into one lustful ooze. He paused and Roxanne's eyes fluttered open. He was looking at her with a delighted smirk. He couldn't have staked his claim any more clearly if he had said it.

Roxanne met his look helplessly, longingly. "Don't stop," she begged, her voice sounding ragged and desperate. She watched his eyes, drinking in the loss of control her words inspired. His lips were back on her own, his hands grasping her arms in a grip that Roxanne felt just might leave bruises. The puddle of warmth in her insides seemed to turn to molten lava at the thought.

Roxanne dismissed any thoughts of questioning any part of this. She could think later, right now she needed to taste his skin. Her lips slid from his mouth to the underside of his chin and down the angular line of his jaw. She didn't just place feather-light kisses though. A part of her had been starving for touch, for physical affection for so long that the ache was only intensifying. The desperate fear that this moment might, at some point, end, was leaving her feeling like a drowning woman.

She sucked and nibbled at his skin, drawing a ragged breath from his own lips. "Roxanne," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. He tasted the way he smelled – like something exotic and unnamable, tinged with hints of leather. Roxanne pulled away, their eyes meeting as they paused. They swam in a fog of lust.

Roxanne leaned forward, placing a light, tight-lipped kiss on his mouth. For a moment, he eyes spoke of something gentler. They had reflected an endless green sea of devotion that had brought the lump back into Roxanne's throat. She pulled him back down, her mouth ravaging his now, as he clutched at her. Her head spun. She wanted to sit. She wanted to lie down. She wanted to tangle her body with the body of this gloriously strange and different man. She'd be content if she could drown in his kisses and his touch.

"Sir?" Minion's voice echoed down the hallway and through the open door of the bedroom. The couple broke apart in surprise, their hands still wrapped around each other's body. "Sir? I managed to track down one of those components you were looking for."

Roxanne was loathe to move away. She wasn't certain her legs would support her in such an action. She wasn't sure she could bare the thought of not fusing her mouth back to his, with his curiously sharp teeth and his wickedly creative tongue. For a long moment, he didn't move either, except to flinch slightly towards the door the next time Minion's voice called out, this time closer. There was a brief instant, just after his hands slipped from her arms, where she wondered if he might simply close the door. Already she felt bereft, the longing to be drawn back into his embrace drowning all sense of reason. She wanted… she needed more.

He leaned forward, inhaling deeply as he buried his face in her short hair. "Later," he breathed, sending a shiver down Roxanne's spine. Even without a cape, his exit was dramatic.

* * *

><p>A good portion of the next hour had been spent curled up on the bed. Roxanne sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, her spine resting against the backboard. A multitude of thoughts streamed through her mind, though they had been ultimately dominated by the memory of his touch and his kiss. He was absolutely wicked. Kissing him had been violent and fraught with a power struggle she hadn't been certain she wanted to actually win. It had also been the most alive she had felt in years. The lust that had swept through her veins had been deliciously intoxicating.<p>

Roxanne stared at the bedroom's open door. She had lost a part of herself in the aftermath of the car accident. The last week had felt like a short course in hatred for humanity's lack of humanity. The past twenty-four hours had been an awakening. Parts of her personality she had tucked away as "bad" or just self-indulgent had been pampered and given free-reign. And it had felt good. Wonderfully good. Like she was finally coming to terms with herself. Was it possible that maybe, deep down, she'd always been bad too? Just pretending to be good because it had always seemed like the only option?

Roxanne wracked her brain. Why was it bad to be bad? What morals had she held that had kept her own actions in check? Or had it always only really been fear? Scared to get caught. Scared to lose the promotion. Scared of everything except what she was supposed to be scared of – the evil villain who actually threatened her life. What reasons were there to hold back, now that she felt no remorse for the faceless hordes and their stupid, hypocritical ways? At this point, would things like stealing and destruction, or even further murders, even hurt her the way the first had? Would feeling bad about being bad simply be more of the hypocrisy she was beginning to despise in the people around her?

Forty-two nudged its way under one of her hands. "Bowg," it said contentedly. Roxanne stared down at its sparking blue dome, running her hand over it soothingly. What did it say when the supposedly emotion-less Brainbots were kinder and gentler than all the "good" people of Metro City?

Roxanne let her legs sprawl out across the bed, sighing softly. Thirty-six's red eye stared at her from the foot of the bed. "Bowg?" it demanded, its loyalty to its master still unquestioned despite the strange scene it had witnessed just the hour before.

"What's the point?" Roxanne asked the glaring red bot. "What point it there to being good when all they do is punish you for it? What reasons are there, really, not to be bad?"

Thirty-six floated slightly up from the foot of the bed, its tentacles trailing slowly behind it as it stared unblinkingly at Roxanne. She reached out a hand to stroke it's sparking red dome. The bot froze beneath her hand. "Bowg?" it questioned softly, suspicion in its tone, if Roxanne was reading it right.

Roxanne let her hand fall. "I'll only hurt those who hurt me," she said with finality, her voice strangely unfamiliar in her own ears. "Live and let live, I guess." She continued to stroke Forty-two's dome, though her gaze was set on Thirty-six. "And as for stealing, if its from the wealthy and corrupt, its almost doing the world a favour, really."

Thirty-six bowged at her, dipping slightly, as if in contemplation. The holographic code screen Roxanne had seen Forty-two display the previous day appeared before her. The text ran like lightning across the hologram. "Pause?" Roxanne asked, one eyebrow raised. Thirty-six did not immediately pause its scan, but did soon enough that Roxanne wondered if it had been purposely attempting to locate something for her anyway.

"Moral Code," Roxanne read, her breath catching in her throat. The little bots were almost shockingly brilliant. She was certain they were smarter and more perceptive than many of the people she had known over the years. She poured over the if/then statements, deciphering the code to reveal a set of morals that broke down almost directly into the few statements she had said to Thirty-six. Roxanne directed her gaze to Thirty-six, "This is what he lives by, isn't it?"

The bot dipped forward slightly, a nod of assent.

Roxanne bit her lip. Within a day of setting foot in the villain's house, she'd unknowingly adopted his moral code. What on earth was the world coming to?

She lingered in the room for a little longer, uncertain of what to do with herself. She felt both an intense desire to track down her blue alien and … encourage a repeat, and to hide, because she wasn't certain that she'd even be able to be in his presence without throwing herself at the mercy of his kisses. Roxanne had never been a coward, however, and soon enough she was down the hall. She was still getting used to her stiletto heels but she figured that if she was going to be any sort of villainess, she'd better learn to like them. She tottered slightly in front of the kitchen wall she knew was a hologram, and held her breath as she walked through it.

"Miss Ritchie!" Minion's greeting held a clear note of pleasure, "What perfect timing!"

Roxanne smiled bewilderedly, "For what exactly?"

Megamind appeared from behind a curtained divide, "I was just telling Minion that we might finally have a chance to beta test something before having it fall apart when used on Metro Man."

Roxanne wrinkled her nose in confusion. "Beta test?" she parroted, "Is this about the particle decelerator?"

Megamind nodded, setting the armful of computer parts down on what appeared to be an already crowded worktable. "One of the main sources of," he ground his teeth, "Error, in our plans is the distinct lack of testing of my inventions on living beings." He flashed her a dangerous smile, "And while I fully support scientific testing, I have… objections to animal testing."

Roxanne cast a glance at Minion, who looked terribly disturbed by even the phrase. The fish caught her eyes, "It's inhuman," he said miserably, his fins drooping in unhappiness.

Roxanne nodded slowly. Personally, she simply couldn't imagine being one of the scientists who had to test products on animals. The idea of applying mascara to small fluffy bunnies to test whether the chemicals were safe (or alternatively, would cause infections and blindness) was horrific. The image of leveling an untested gun at one seemed like overkill. "So, you'd rather go straight to human testing," she summarized, setting a critical gaze on Megamind.

He shrugged, "Most of my weapons aren't ultimately lethal."

Roxanne hesitated at that, because it was true. Despite the fact that he was ultimately threatening to destroy Metro Man, very few of his inventions actually had the power to destroy. Those that did, generally did so in fairly straightforward ways. "If that's true," she said carefully, "Then how do you intend to destroy Metro Man with them?"

His green eyes assessed her, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "That hasn't been my direct goal, my nosy reporter," Roxanne felt that now familiar shiver run down her spine, "At least, not yet."

Roxanne drew around the workbench, closing some of the distance between them. She regarded him suspiciously, her mind working to decipher his behaviour, "You mean, you've been systematically working out his weaknesses?" His raised eyebrow was all she needed for an answer. She tapped her bottom lip contemplatively, "The bloodykaboom fusion sound generator?"

"Advanced hearing range test."

"Triforce shadow howler monkeybot?"

"Frustration tolerance test."

"Hyperglove compactilizer?"

"Skeletal stress test."

Roxanne tilted her head. "So you know all his weaknesses?"

Megamind shrugged, "Not all. Most." He smiled at her, a wicked thing. "The best one being the one you revealed earlier." Roxanne looked at him in confusion. "Dear Roxanne," he hissed softly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and walking her over to the curtained divide he had appeared from just minutes before. "Just when, exactly, does Metro Man engage in this "down time" you spoke of?"

Roxanne turned an awestruck gaze upon him, a plurality of evil thoughts running through her mind. A smirk curled itself onto her lips slowly. His green eyes focused upon them, licking his lips almost unconsciously. He pulled a cord, and the curtain swept out of the way. Regretfully, Roxanne turned her gaze to the scene he had just revealed. A number of cards, photographs, sketches, and papers hung suspended from the ceiling, twisting ever so slightly in an imperceptible breeze.

"The plan?" Roxanne whispered softly, her eyes riveted on the scrawled equations and diagrams.

"Part of it," he murmured, stepping behind her to wrap his arms around her. She felt his breath ghost over her left ear, "We'll need to do the beta testing first."

Roxanne melted backwards into his embrace, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. Being close to him was a terrible temptation. Being held by him, as the two contemplated the plan that would ultimately bring down Metro Man, being a willing and active participant in his plan… it was the fulfillment of every evil daydream that had ever flitted across her mind. The few times she had involuntarily indulged herself in them she had felt horribly dirty and wrong. She'd done her best to dismiss them as the products of Stockholm Syndrome rather than honest desires. The hot showers she'd taken afterward in an attempt to wash them away had left her skin red and over-scrubbed.

Now she indulged freely, fitting her body more closely to his. The skin-tight tank top and yoga pants hugged her curves, and she felt his arms tighten around her as she squirmed just ever so slightly further into his arms. "Temptress," he murmured into her ear, melting her to the core. Somewhere behind them, Roxanne knew Minion was watching in silence. She wondered idly what he thought of all this, as Megamind stepped back, one hand still holding her right wrist. He spun her slowly about, smirking before he began to pull her back to the worktable. "Minion has been extremely busy," he said softly, his voice that evil black silk tone she'd begun to crave. "His extensive skills aren't limited to culinary pursuits," he continued, presenting Roxanne to Minion.

"I knew, after seeing you last night," Minion admitted sheepishly, "That you'd probably be staying with us, and I figured that you would need… well, clothes. And when Sir told me that you were definitely going to be staying, well, I got a little excited." He shyly drew out a large purple box from behind him. "I wanted you to have something…" he trailed off shyly with a shrug.

Roxanne accepted the box, half turning to settle it on the worktable beside them. She raised a curious eyebrow at the alien fish, "Thank you?" she began to say, uncertain of what exactly to expect.

"Open it, please," the fish insisted, both his robot gorilla hands and his tiny spined fins gesturing to go ahead.

Roxanne bit her lip and turned to the deep purple box. Her delicate fingers lifted the top off the box slowly. Her breath caught in her throat, "Oh Minion," she exclaimed softly. Her fingers slipped into the box, running over the buttery soft black leather. She pulled the fabric from the box, revealing curve-hugging black leather pants. She set the pants aside gently, and thrust her hands back into the box. A satiny black off-the-shoulder top emerged, black ribbons that crisscrossed around the waist dangling from the garment. Roxanne sighed softly, she'd never had anything so… lovely and gutsy and sexy. She looked back into the box in confusion. The top followed the pants and Roxanne held a strange, almost rubbery bodysuit in her hands. Which looked about ten sizes too small. "Minion?" she inquired, uncertainty in her voice.

"It stretches," Megamind informed her flatly.

"It's made from a polymer Sir developed years ago. The molecular pattern knits into an extremely flexible, energy-distributing net." Minion paused, "He invented it after that first incident with the dehydration gun. The… the police thought he'd killed the security guard." Minion's voice was small, "I… I thought I'd lost him…"

Roxanne heard Megamind shift awkwardly behind her. "You were shot?" she asked, surprise colouring her voice. She'd never uncovered this fact in her research. He'd always seemed somewhat… impervious to bullet wounds. Or too fast to get caught in gunfire.

Minion sighed, "We were lucky that the prison doctor had insisted on collecting several pints of blood over the previous years, just in case."

Megamind looked away, apparently not wanting to continue the line of thought, uncomfortable under her concentrated gaze. Roxanne swallowed hard, the idea of losing him suddenly unbearable. Right now, he and Minion and the Brainbots were literally all she had in the world. She turned back to Minion, pushing the disturbing thought to the back of her mind, "So this material is?"

"Essentially bullet proof," Minion declared happily, "And since it re-distributes all energy and force types, it offers decent protection from impacts, force blasts, injuries, and even electric shocks."

Roxanne smiled, "Thank you, Minion," she said softly, "You have no idea how much this means to me."

Minion ducked shyly in his bowl. "There's more," he waved her back to the box.

Roxanne stared at the box, realizing with a start that it had a false bottom. She lifted the thin cardboard and gasped in sheer amazement. Speechlessly, she pulled the black leather boots from the box. Roughly knee-high, with pointed kitten heels and straps that crisscrossed the boot from ankle to knee, the boots were a work of art. "They're… they're beautiful," she murmured. She stared helplessly at the fish. "Thank you," she gasped, throwing herself at him with a hug. "This is the best gift I've ever gotten."

Minion seemed stunned, though he lightly patted Roxanne on the back. Sheepish eyes met with his master's over Roxanne's head. "What do I do?" he mouthed. His boss just shrugged, amusement playing across his features.

Roxanne pulled away from Minion, a lump in her throat. She cast a longing glance at the new clothes and the boots (oh, the gorgeous boots). "I need to go try these on," she admitted, grabbing the things up into her arms and disappearing through the holographic wall without a second thought.

She was adapting faster to this life of high technology, crime, and evil far faster than she had ever dreamed possible.


	10. Sincerity

**Pale Blue Shadows**

Author's Note:

I'm having way too much fun writing this. I lean back every now and again and have this very satisfied sense of, "Gah… the sexual tension is going to kill me!" Which just confirms that I'm doing it right. And oh my god, its way too fun to tease…

And by the way... fluff alert. I couldn't help myself after all.

_Chapter 10: Sincerity  
><em>

Roxanne had just finished slipping on the black satin top. The ribbons which wound their way around the body of it, pulling it tight to her figure, were giving Forty-two trouble. Personally, she had no desire to attempt it herself, so she let the little bot pick at the ribbons helplessly. She turned her attention to her reflection. "This needs makeup," she commented. Forty-two turned to her as if to give a look of relief. Within moments, the creation was dusting her eyes and lacquering her nails with an extra top coat.

The bodysuit went from her toes to her shoulders, the tank-top-like straps peeking from beneath the off-the-shoulder style of the top. It gave her a certain rakish look, as if she were already in a state of partial undress. She twisted in front of the mirror, admiring the shape of her body when clothed in leather.

Forty-two fell back from her, its administrations done. "Bowg?" it addressed the bedroom doorway. Roxanne turned, the kitten heels of the boots giving her significantly less trouble than the stilettos she'd been sporting had.

"You look wonderful," his voice was calm as he leaned jauntily against the door frame.

She smiled, warmed to her toes by the sincerity of the compliment. "I just can't get the ribbons figured out," she admitted, gesturing hopelessly at the mess Forty-two had made.

He strode over to her, his nimble fingers making quick work of the ribbons. Roxanne watched breathlessly as his blue fingers teased the ribbons back into the desired angles and arrangements. His hands lingered on her hips, stroking the spaces between the ribbons, running his fingers across them to tighten them each individually before tying the final knot. Roxanne gazed up into the mirror before her. They looked quite the pair. It was just a little bit hard to breath with his hands on her.

She stepped lightly out of his grasp, turning to face him. "So," she began, walking over to the black leather armchair and perching on the arm, "How is it that Metro Man hasn't found this place yet?" She looked at him searchingly, crossing one leg over the other. From the corner of her eyes, she observed how good the movement looked in leather. She raised an eyebrow, pleased to find that apparently he had as well. "Even with the holograms hiding things," she continued, "And I'm assuming that something about them makes them impossible for him to see through, he should be able to hear us."

Megamind smirked in a way Roxanne could almost have described as kind. "The holograms are multi-layered," he explained, closing the distance between them, "Metro Man sees exactly what I want him to see – which are empty warehouses scattered across Metrocity." His hands were on her again. Roxanne shivered deliciously, "As to his hearing," he sneered, bringing his face close to her own, "I've devised a series of sound cushions, noise interrupters, conversation interference programs, and ambient noise emitters to cloak several different locations."

Roxanne stared coolly into his deep green eyes, fighting against the hormones that surged in her blood stream, reminding her exactly how wonderful his lips were. "Makes sense," she said softly, her eyes still drawn to his lips despite herself, "Where's Minion?" she asked in what she'd intended to be a casual tone. In her ears, it didn't sound nearly as innocent.

He smirked, leaning back again, "Scanning several new guises into one of the watches."

"For me?" Roxanne blinked in surprise. "What's the rush?"

He smiled at her, drawing her hands into his own. "I figured you would likely be bored of being inside for over a week. You're normally free to go wherever you like, and your job sent you all _sorts_ of places." Roxanne made a mental note to try to figure out when exactly his voice had start to affect her the way it did. "Besides which, we need to begin reconnaissance for the beta testing plan."

"You do recon?" Roxanne asked, smothering a smile.

His eyes darkened, "Not usually," he admitted, "But I have certain _incentives_ to stay out of prison now, don't I?" He drew her hands into his own, looking as if there was much more he wanted to say. He paused, regarding her, "Where would you like to go?"

"What about our voices?" she whispered, touched by the fact that he was considering what she might want.

"Might be best to stick to some place with lots of ambient noise then, or lots of people. He's never been one for attacking in a crowd."

Roxanne let the smile out to play, "So _you_ want to go someone crowded and noisy?"

His eyes fell closed as he leaned forward, his forehead resting lightly against hers. "No," he replied, "But you might." Almost without thinking, Roxanne found her hands framing his face, ghosting along his jaw bone. Her fingertips memorized the feeling of his skin. It was different, somehow. Smoother, cooler to the touch. As if he ran several degrees cooler than herself. He sighed then, turning his face to place kisses in the palm of one of her hands. Her mouth felt dry again. The amount of desire she felt outmatched anything she had felt previously with anyone. Trust it to her to fall for a big headed alien.

"Trying to make me happy?" she whispered in reply. His green eyes fluttered open, their depths saying more than words could. The entire moment was deeply out of sync with the morning's passionate embrace, but Roxanne felt like everything was balancing out to exactly what it should be. Everything about this felt oddly right. Horribly bad and completely against every social norm she'd been brought up with, yes, but still right in a way that resonated within her. As if every cell of her body approved, every neuron agreed, and whatever spiritual matter might make up her presence acquiesced.

His gaze gave her the impression that he was trying to search her soul. "Am I?" he murmured softly, uncertainly.

Roxanne swallowed hard. She pressed her lips against his in a short, chaste kiss. "You've no idea," she whispered. She leaned back, forcing distance between them before she ruined the moment by forcing her tongue down his throat. "Ok," she said, her voice trembling for only a moment as she drew the word out into two long syllables, "I know where we can go."

He looked at her for a long moment. "I'm not going to like it, am I?" he said finally.

Roxanne smirked, "Nope, but you asked me what I wanted to do." She was leaning back now, her arms stretched backward to brace herself against the back of the armchair. She gave him a look of haughty superiority, "Now you're just going to have to live with it."

He smirked, stepping around the side of the chair and leaning in. He brushed a kiss across her bare shoulder, "Whatever you command, my queen," he whispered, his eyes sparkling with evil mirth.

* * *

><p>Roxanne was smirking evilly as she pulled him in line behind her. "C'mon, Syx," she smirked with her borrowed smile, "It can't be <em>that<em> bad inside."

It was strange, playing this game with someone who lacked blue skin and an oversized head. It was definitely his eyes that were getting her through. The guise he wore was a fairly thin man, not far from his actual height, so at least the dimensions weren't terribly off. The borrowed body had scruffy, brownish hair and was dressed neatly in jeans and a black dress shirt. Dressy enough to get in, simple enough to leave Roxanne not uncomfortable.

She appeared as a woman with roughly the same body shape as her own. Short, spiky black hair was styled fetchingly into a neat but funky hairstyle. She wore a sleeveless red dress that wrapped around her like a second skin. Red pumps finished the outfit. It had been with a certain amount of surprise that Roxanne had taken in the beautiful, bright butterfly tattoo that covered the back of the woman's left shoulder. The delicate creation seemed to flutter when Roxanne moved her arm. Simpler tattoos, in black ink, wound their way up the woman's right arm. A pattern of Japanese characters, delicate script, and swirling tribal-style patterns. It was a mishmash that Roxanne found overwhelming, but it wasn't unappealing, in its own strange way. Dimly, she wondered where on earth Minion had gone to capture this scan.

"You're dragging me into a club," he replied dryly, careful to avoid using her name. "Am I supposed to act amused?"

Roxanne smiled, curling herself into his arms, "Better?" she whispered.

His eyes searched out her own. "Yes," he replied, his hands lingering only lightly on the hologram's surprisingly touchable skin. How he'd managed these tactile and multi-layer holograms, Roxanne couldn't imagine.

Roxanne pulled out the stunningly well constructed fake ID Minion had passed her with the disguise watch. "There's two more disguises in there," he'd added with a crooked, toothy grin, "But I figured this might be the one to go with tonight."

He'd been right, Roxanne thought, as she gave the bouncer a twisted grin. The bouncer eyed her up and down, an action that had Syx wrapping his arms around her even more possessively. He'd sighed, handing her back her ID, along with the one Megamind had used. "Have fun," he'd said tiredly, obviously annoyed with his job.

"Doubtful," Megamind had frowned. But he followed her willingly enough into the darkened club. The music was ridiculously loud and the club was packed. Perfect cover.

Roxanne pulled him close. "We need drinks," she told him, leaning close to his ear. He was staring around the place in obvious disapproval. She rolled her eyes and dragged him to the bar. She smiled flirtatiously at the bartender, "What's good?" she asked, causing the bar tender to blink.

"Uh, I make wicked shooters?" the young man admitted, "If that's what you're after?"

Roxanne glanced behind her at Megamind. The arms of the man he wore were folded tightly, his foot tapping the ground impatiently. She looked back at the bar tender, "Works for me," she purred.

* * *

><p>"What was this one?" his voice was a little loud in her ear.<p>

"Polar bear," she replied, a grin plastered across her face. "The pepperminty one."

"Polar bear," he mouthed. "I understand the reference to polar. Peppermint has qualities that give a sensation of cold on the human tongue. But not the bear. Why is it a bear? Does it taste like bear?"

Roxanne giggled helplessly at his utterly confused expression. "I doubt it," she clarified, twisting amusedly. She paused, "What does peppermint taste like on your tongue?"

"Much more complex," he murmured. She had leaned forward predatorily.

"Can I taste?" she'd asked, licking her lips as the buzz ran through her system.

"I don't think it works like that," he's replied, looking innocent and uncertain. Despite how well he handled wine, the hard liquor seemed to be posing a slightly more difficult challenge. On the other hand, Roxanne reflected, she'd entirely lost count of how many of these things they'd had.

She grabbed his hand. "We need to dance," she tugged him toward the dance floor.

He followed willingly enough, but seemed heavily hesitant. "I don't know to dance like this!" he hissed in her ear when she pulled him close.

"Don't worry about it," she replied dreamily. "Neither does anyone else." She looped her arms around his neck and tugged him down into a kiss. Her body pressed against his, swaying slightly with the music and the alcohol. His mouth tasted like the peppermint of the shooters, and he lost no time in taking over the kiss. He fairly devoured her mouth and Roxanne melted a little closer into his embrace. She pulled away, settling her face into the crook of his neck.

The music pulsed around them, other couples intently focused on each other patently ignoring them, though Roxanne felt at least a few gazes linger on her momentarily before absorbing the fact that she was intimately wound into the arms of another. The beat of the music flowed into her body and she dragged herself across his own. "Just move with me," she whispered against his ear, drowning her thoughts in the music as she felt him look around them rapidly, his brain processing typical dance moves in a place like this with shocking speed, despite the alcohol.

His arms pulled her closer, and Roxanne smothered a laugh as the next song began. "What's so funny?" he murmured.

She shook her head, burrowing it into his neck, "Nothing. This song." She pressed a kiss against his neck. The hologram effect made the visual textures feel real to the observer, but the sense of touch was unaffected for the wearer. It felt strange to kiss human flesh, but she satisfied herself with the slight gasp he rewarded her with. "You'll get a kick out of it," she promised, her lips moving against his skin.

She mouthed the words against his skin, sensing his amusement through the way he held her. She stared up at him, "So, extraterrestrial," she whispered, a smirk on her lips. "Kiss me?"

He smirked back at her, one hand stroking the back of her neck. He leaned in, "So you aren't the only human with a fascination with aliens?" he murmured innocently. A thrill of frustration ran through Roxanne, and rather than biting her own lip, she bit his. The DJ shifted into the next song and Roxanne's eyes glittered into Syx's. She turned around in his arms, grinding into him as she wound her arms around him behind her. His breath was caught in his throat, as he clung helplessly to her hips.

In a haze of alcohol and lust, Roxanne caught traces of the lyrics and sung along to them carelessly. Her body moved against his and he was helpless but to follow her lead. "I want your love," she sung, "And all your lover's revenge." She writhed against him, "Cause you're a criminal, as long as your mine."

He was breathing in her scent again. Drowning from the sounds of it. Taking pity, she spun back around to face him. Instead of looking lost, he appeared wickedly pleased. "Caught in a bad romance?" he whispered into her ear, sending Roxanne into a fit of giggles against him.

"We should get out of here," she whispered in response, letting her lips follow gravity back to his own.

* * *

><p>Disclaimer: I do not own either song referenced in this chapter. They are, of course, E.T. by Katy Perry and Bad Romance by Lady Gaga. And, honestly, as much as I love rock… the lyrics of these songs are kinda… on target on this one. I've got a 2.5 hour mix I've been listening to while writing this story, and these are only a teeny tiny part of it. But they're great for the smutty bits.<p> 


	11. Frustration

**Pale Blue Shadows**

Author's Note:

Thank you, everyone, for all your lovely, lovely reviews! I'm thrilled that you're enjoying the story, and I actually honestly apologize for this chapter, which, really, is going to do exactly what the title says… frustrate a whole lot of you. But its necessary for the story's ultimate goals. So please, bear with me. I'll earn the M rating soon enough…

_Chapter 11: Frustration_

Roxanne woke in a delicious tangle of silk and satin sheets. She sighed contentedly, rubbing her face into the soft material. She stretched slowly, lifting her head with a yawn. She gazed around at the room's occupants. Forty-two was lifting itself from its hollow by her feet, bowging softly while blinking at her, ready to serve as always. She turned her head to look at Thirty-six, who's red eye glared at her. "Bowg," it snarled, turning itself away from her.

She stared hard at the angry little bot. "It's not _my_ fault you don't get to see him," she told it firmly. "_He's_ the one who wouldn't come in last night." The bot didn't move, though a second snarled bowg emitted from the sulking mechanical pet.

Roxanne sighed, letting herself fall back into the softness of the pillows. It was true. If anything, she'd made a complete fool of herself last night. At least, she dimly remembered Minion rolling his eyes at them as he drove them home. Once in the safety of the car's invisibility, the disguises could be dropped. And she'd more than adequately expressed her preference for kissing the real Syx, as she'd put it. Roxanne groaned, dragging a pillow over her face.

They had stood in the doorway of the bedroom. Her back had been pressed into the frame of the door as he'd taken his time, kissing her slowly and thoroughly. The memory of his soft lips gently toying with her own left Roxanne feeling as liquid as the actual experience. He had pulled away, gazing into her eyes. There had been a very long moment, as she waited for him to continue, or to slide her from the door frame into the room. She was entirely undone by his touch and his kisses and the way he had cared enough about her own desires to let her choose their evening, even if the first hour had been spent walking around a bank, plotting escape routes and exit strategies.

Had he wanted her, she would have let him take everything. Have anything. It had been so long since she had felt wanted or needed or… if she dared to admit it… loved. Instead, the moment had stretched longer and longer. Roxanne had wet her lips nervously, gazing back at him with increasing confusion. Was he waiting for something?

She forced herself to break the silence of the moment. She had swallowed hard, "Do you want to come in?" she'd asked quietly, desire and need melting together in the pit of her stomach.

He'd closed his eyes, drawing a slightly shuddering breath. The moment stretched too thin. Suddenly, Roxanne felt foolish for even making the offer. She hadn't been with very many men, but the offer had never been met with anything less than immediate acceptance. She didn't know what to do with this silent pause. "No," he had finally replied, "Not yet. Not like this."

Roxanne had stood frozen in shame. She couldn't identify what was wrong with this moment. She didn't know how to handle such a rejection. He'd slipped from her side, a brush of a kiss across the back of her hand. She hadn't quite been able to process anything. So instead she had numbly stepped into the room and closed the door. Forty-two had done the work of undressing her and tucking her into bed. It wasn't exactly the conclusion to the night she had expected.

Still in bed, Roxanne clenched her eyes shut, trying to shake the feeling of embarrassment and injured pride. She wasn't sure what was worse, the fact that she had asked or the part where he had rejected her. Everything had seemed to lead to the inevitable conclusion she had drawn. He seemed just as addicted to her kiss and her touch as she was to his, so why would he say no? He knew she wasn't going anywhere. Knew that she… had feelings for him. Sharing a night was a big step but it was a natural one, just a simple progression of what they had already…

Roxanne paused, her mouth going dry in a sudden horror. Syx wasn't human. Blue skin and big head aside, there were differences between them. His inhumanely sharper teeth, his cooler temperature, the bizarre heartbeat, his thinness and apparent increased resilience. She had a suspicion that he healed faster than humans too.

Which led to the inevitable question. Just how different was he from humans actually? For all she really knew, he might not even be mammalian. What if his species laid eggs or something? Roxanne sat up miserably, drawing herself into a ball. Was it possible that she had fallen for someone she might not actually be capable of being intimate with? Roxanne gazed nervously at the two brainbots, both of which were staring at her uncertainly, sensing her shift in mood. Admittedly, it had been a little over two years since she'd last had sex. Going without had sucked, but it was doable. But… was she actually willing to go the rest of her life without any?

Which brought up the question of when exactly the idea of spending the rest of her life with Megamind had taken root.

Roxanne grabbed a pillow and squeezed it tightly to herself. This was just not a good morning.

* * *

><p>When she finally dragged herself and the dull headache that beat in her temples into the kitchen, she was almost terrified of seeing Megamind. Instead, Minion's broad back greeted her, a tuneless hum in the air. "Morning, Minion," she greeted him softly, her tone graced lightly with relief.<p>

He turned to her, a look of curious discomfit on his features. "Good morning, Miss Ritchie," he declared, "Strawberry crepes?"

Roxanne's eyes widened in delight. "Sure?" she replied, wondering what exactly warranted strawberry crepes on a Wednesday, "What's the occasion?"

Minion flashed her a toothy grin. "Sir has decided to do the beta test the day after tomorrow. Which means there's a lot to get ready, so why not strawberry crepes?"

Roxanne was a little flummoxed by the fish's logic, but smiled in honest pleasure at the idea that they were far enough along to beta test on Friday. Friday at noon, to be exact, when Metro Man usually indulged in an unbroken hour of relaxation with sound-muffling ear phones and a masseuse. There were other times they could have chosen from, but sadly, most banks didn't operate after 5 pm.

Roxanne couldn't mask her delight when Minion slid the golden brown crepe onto her plate, pouring what appeared to be homemade strawberry sauce liberally over the thin, soft, butter-scented pancake. "This looks amazing," she told him, earning another toothy grin. She wrinkled her nose suddenly, "Minion," she asked, "What do _you_ eat?"

The fish shrugged his fins at her, letting the gorilla suit hang limply. "Fish flakes, mostly," he admitted. "I have a weakness for bacon, but not all of us have Sir's metabolism."

Roxanne smiled sympathetically. "I was just thinking that myself," she looked down at her plate, "Usually I'm a fruit and yogurt for breakfast girl."

"We can get that in," Minion told, rapidly whipping out a harvest-themed pad of paper and a pencil, scratching the words down with his awkwardly huge gorilla hands. The writing was tiny and precise. It was amazing the minute control he had over the suit's giant hands.

"So _you_ need grocery lists, at least," she observed.

Minion looked up at her, a conspiratorial look on his face. "Not all of us have Sir's memory, either," he agreed. His expression changed fractionally, as if he were hesitant to broach something. He shook his little fish body as if to cancel out the thought. "Sir asked me to show you to the library today," he continued in a light tone, "He wants you to brush up on your science knowledge. There are also computers there, if you wish to research anything or refresh your programming skills." Again, the fish looked hesitant.

Roxanne swallowed the last bite of Minion's latest culinary masterpiece. The questions she'd stumbled upon during her morning's reverie resurfaced in her mind. Ten to one, whatever Minion was so hesitant to say had to do with Megamind, so she might as well collect whatever relevant information she could get from him while she teased out whatever this tidbit was too. "Lead the way," she announced, pushing her empty plate back on the counter, "I'm curious now."

* * *

><p>The library wasn't a large room. In fact, it was roughly the same size as Roxanne's living room back home. What set it apart as a library, however, were the wall-to-wall shelves, literally stuffed with books. Several desks sat at odd angles in the middle of the room, home to several different computers and laptops. It seemed that nearly every major company had undergone at least some scrutiny. Two overstuffed leather arm chairs sat tilted in corners so that books could still be accessed behind and around them.<p>

Roxanne wandered around the shelves, surprised by the variety of genres. It seemed that Megamind had dabbled in nearly all of them. The number of science textbooks, most of them highly advanced, would have looked more at home in a university bookstore than a private library. Roxanne chewed on her lower lip, "Has he read _all _of these?"

"Indeed, Miss Ritchie," Minion confirmed. He hastened to one of the computer tables, gesturing to a small stack of books. "He also picked these out for you as decent introductory texts. He attempted to aim for more practical applications and popular science books so you would be less likely to get bored."

Roxanne gave a small smile. It was strange, the ways Megamind would be considerate. He seemed to expect her to attempt to master nearly as many things as he had, at least to a level where she could contribute to his work. At the same time, Roxanne had never had anyone believe so strongly in her intelligence or abilities. It was… strange, but also nice. Like being given a task that seemed horribly difficult, but being told that not only was it within your grasp, but also that it wasn't really as hard as you perceived. Like perhaps there were shortcuts that would become evident.

Roxanne picked up the first text, an introduction to the origins of the universe. She stared at the space-themed drawings on the cover. She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Minion," she began, catching the fish before he could leave, "Can you tell me about him?" Her voice sounded strangely pleading in her ears, and hopelessly ambiguous. "I mean," she continued, "About his... people. Like," she struggled to find a way to get the information she really wanted without being blunt about it, "Humans have babies, but they're basically entirely helpless for months. It usually takes a year before they begin to talk, and even longer before they can walk. It just seems… if he can remember so much more, that maybe there is more to his whole experience." As she spoke, she found herself admitting that really, she was curious about all of it. Her interest was honestly sincere. She's spent most of the past few years applying human ideas and expectations to Megamind, expecting his life among humans to have shaped him more than anything else. Now, she was less certain. The differences between them were becoming more evident and she was unsure how deep the differences ran, and what effect they might actually have had.

Minion's face held a mixture of uncertainty and relief. "Well," Minion began, "It's true that their children advanced at a much more rapid pace than human children do. I mean, it was accepted that intelligent thought began in the womb. If a baby was born without their eyes wide open, studying the world with curiosity, everyone knew something was wrong."

Roxanne felt a wave of relief run through her body. If thought began in the womb, than the baby was born the normal way. Which suggested that conception was probably done the normal way. Live birth generally suggested some form of sex, which required something to… well… Roxanne felt a blush spread across her cheeks. Maybe she was looking at this too analytically. The short answer was that her concerns from that morning were almost definitely unfounded. Which brought her a very awkward sense of relief.

A sudden thought struck her. "Wait," she paused Minion, "How do… how did the mothers give birth with," she gestured to her head, "I mean… big?" She stumbled over the idea, her eyes wide. Human childbirth was supposed to be painful enough. If Syx was anything to go by, his people were slighter than humans… the geometry of child birth was throwing her for a loop.

Minion stared at her for a long moment. He seemed to be contemplating something. "I'm not sure I should be the one telling you this," he began, "But then again, Sir tends to ignore…" he trailed off with a sigh. "Sir doesn't have bones the same way you do, Miss Ritchie," he paused gauging her reaction. When she didn't look particularly shocked or horrified, he continued, his narration picking up speed from the tentative introduction he had begun with. "His skeletal system is composed of something much closer in structure to what you would call cartilage. Only, the parts that need reinforcing are more of a crystalline multi-mineral and protein matrix composite. It's part of why he heals so much faster than humans. When his "bones" break, they are able to knit themselves back together. And because they are less hard in the first place, they have a bit more give to them."

Roxanne stared at Minion in fascination. "That makes… sense," she said haltingly, "He does seem to take a licking and keep on ticking a lot."

Minion nodded. He had that strangely hesitant look again from earlier. "Miss Ritchie," he began, "There is something else you really should know about Sir. I know this is something he should tell you himself, but I have the feeling that its one thing he probably wouldn't, and that's why…" he swallowed hard. "The thing about his people," Minion continued, "They _weren't_ human. They evolved in a completely different environment and to completely different conditions and with a completely different set of expectations for themselves and their societies. It wasn't just things like there was just less calcium on our home planet, it was also things like…" he seemed to struggle for words. "They have a lot more intelligence to play with, and a different way of reacting emotionally to things. For his people, its normal to become fascinated by something. To spend time figuring out absolutely every tiny thing about it. Its how they worked, but its also how they thought. They… tended to fixate." He shrugged his fins, "Sir is no exception to that. By human standards, he tends to get obsessed with certain things, and while I understand that is supposed to be unhealthy in humans… its just normal for him. He's supposed to be like that."

Roxanne watched Minion carefully. Everything he was saying made sense, but she wasn't entirely confident she knew where it was going.

Minion sighed. "Several years ago, I realized that one of the things he'd fixated on was you, Miss Ritchie. And for the longest time, that was fine, because you were just the kidnappee. There wasn't any real expectation of you aside from simply being here." Minion looked thoroughly uncomfortable, "Sir has a remarkable ability to compartmentalize, even for his species." Minion looked downright miserable actually, now that Roxanne looked closely. "When you… when you crossed that line out of the compartment of kidnappee and into… well, into the one for potential mates," Minion grimaced, "It became a lot more confusing, but still manageable. Because as long as you were oblivious or not interested, I don't think he would have acted and so his fixation would have stayed… distanced."

Roxanne felt horrible for Minion. He looked so awkward, but whatever he was trying to say was evidently so important that he felt obliged to push through. He waved his fins hopelessly, struggling to find a way to phrase things he obviously didn't want to think about in relation to his master. "When you… began to return his interest, you probably jumped compartments again."

Roxanne watched the fish warily. "Which means what?" she finally asked, her voice sounding strangely hollow in her ears.

Minion really did look miserable, his fins drifting at his sides, his eyes looking everywhere but at her. "There's a very good chance that Sir _won't be able_ to un-fixate from you," Minion finally met her gaze. "I realize that its normal for humans to change mates and to sometimes leave the ones they have. They get bored or have troubles they can't work through. This just… almost never happened. Sir's parents, for example, they were just so fascinated by each other I don't think they ever would have been able to even survive being separated. They would have gone to the ends of the galaxy to find one another." He fidgeted, "Sir is very dangerously close to feeling that way for you, Miss Ritchie. I just thought you should know what this entails before you encouraged him too much."

Roxanne felt her mouth go dry. "I don't understand," she said suddenly, "What do you mean by not being able to un-fixate?"

Minion sighed, "I mean, if you left, he might not be able to let you go."

Roxanne blinked. "That's not… unheard of here," she continued, feeling like she was missing something, "People say they can't let go of someone. It's an emotional thing but..."

Minion seemed to squirm, "No, Miss Ritchie, I mean, he _physically_ might not be able to let you leave him. There's a good chance that if you left, he would simply come get you, wherever you were, and bring you back to him. There would be nowhere you could go where he wouldn't find you. There would be nothing you could do, without him finding out." Minion flapped his fins, struggling to express the absolute weight of this to her, "If it meant keeping you by force, he might simply have to do it. He wouldn't be able to understand on an emotional level. It might be wrong for you, but it would seem right to him. Just imagine the full force of his schemes and plots and inventive capabilities focused entirely on returning you to him."

Roxanne felt herself go slightly pale. Minion was right about this sounding absolutely wrong from a human perspective. Without Minion's explanation, she would have labeled such a thing as unhealthy obsession, bordering on insanity. Even trying to balance the fact that a differently evolved nervous system and different social needs might create such a system, it still seemed… extreme. "You would… you would really let him keep me against my will?" she asked Minion. He had never seemed the type to do such a thing. Always concerned for her well-being, he had always struck her as strangely innocent and gentle.

Minion stared at her miserably. "Miss Ritchie," he confided, sounding strangely certain, "If it made Sir happy, I would keep you here against your will _right now_."

Roxanne was struck by the force of the words, and by the depth of his devotion. It was obvious that he disagreed with the whole idea. He evidently felt miserable about the whole situation – one which was, deep down, a product of simple culture clash. Yet, he sounded certain that he would not waver. His master's happiness and well-being came before his own moral certitude and peace of mind. She gazed at Minion in a new light, a strange respect rising wildly within her. It was so strange. Up until now, she had never imagined loving someone with her whole entire heart or being. She had never imagined literally being a slave to another person, bound by ties of devotion and love.

Floored by this new information, Roxanne felt herself re-assessing. What exactly did it mean to love someone like Syx? What did mean to be loved by him?

Just how far was she willing to go with this game… if it really, literally meant playing for keeps?


	12. Dangerous

**Pale Blue Shadows**

Author's Note:

FluffyFurball – I would challenge that actually. In my experience, sometimes the people who we love most are the ones we also hurt the most. And sometimes people can't help hurting the ones they love. There are so many things which lie outside of our control and so many things which can push us into desperate acts or simply into strange mental states, that sometimes hurting the ones we love can't be prevented. Sometimes we hurt the ones we love because we believe that what we do or say is best for them. Overall, I don't believe that love (even healthy, perfectly normal love) can protect you from causing or experiencing hurt to or from a loved one. At the same time, I don't believe this is a reason to cut yourself off from giving or receiving love. Honestly, I expect it's the source of the notion of forgiveness.

P.S. Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out – I'm just finishing up a summer session class and had an essay to write. Now, I really should be studying for my exam but… all work and no play make Dreamflight a sad creature.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 12: Dangerous<em>

Roxanne was nervous. She hadn't seen Megamind in nearly forty-eight hours. The beta test plan was supposed to go ahead at noon tomorrow. Which was problematic seeing as how it was already nearly tomorrow and she didn't actually know what the plan was. She had spent the better part of her days in the library, reading through the books that had been set aside for her and skimming through other titles she'd found interesting. A little poking around on the internet revealed that Metro Man was indeed continuing to search, but his failure to produce Roxanne, his rival, or both of them together was casting him in a fairly dim light. The majority of opinionated news persons were wondering aloud where she had disappeared to and why Megamind had been silent for so long. Had they abandoned Metro City?

Roxanne stared nervously at Forty-two, who headed to her side upon noticing her look. Roxanne ran twitching fingers over the bot's blue dome, seeking solace in the action the same way she would have if the bot were a dog or cat. Thirty-six was still being huffy, evidently missing its master and holding Roxanne accountable for his absence.

There was no reason for her not to go to him. The thought had filtered lazily through Roxanne's brain for the past two days. If she really wanted to know the plan, all she had to do was go prowl through workrooms and the outer lair until she found Syx. It was only embarrassment and injured pride that held her back. She wondered at what point her nerves would overcome all her other emotions.

A quiet knock sounded gently at the door to the bedroom, making Roxanne jump. Apparently, her nerves had set her even further on edge than she had thought. "Come in?" she called out, swallowing her surprise down. She had been expecting Minion, who had insisted that the cape for her costume, along with the accompanying gloves were almost complete and would be ready to be presented to her sometime that evening. He was running late for Minion, which had only added to Roxanne's stress.

The door opened slowly, revealing Syx to be in his customary pose, leaning carelessly against the doorframe. His arms were folded across his chest as he regarded her with his vibrant green eyes. "Syx!" Roxanne exclaimed, pulling the black silk robe Minion had provided her with more tightly around the short black nightgown she had packed in her anything-black-can-come-with mindset. Now her cheeks flamed slightly, her stores of embarrassment multiplying.

"Ready to hear the plan?" he asked calmly, his voice betraying only a hint of amusement at her reaction to his presence.

Roxanne paused in her tugging of the robe. "About time," she scolded, her attention diverted to the more immediate source of stress, "I was starting to think I was supposed to wing it!"

That sly smirk of his had crept across his lips. "Basically," he began, his smirk widening, "You will."

Roxanne groaned softly, letting herself fall into the leather armchair. "I can't do this," she admitted, her head in her hands. Her short hair slipped forward just enough to hide her eyes. "This is ridiculous. There is no way I'm going to be able to…"

His fingers brushing across her face forced her to pause. Somehow he had crossed the distance from the doorway to the armchair without her noticing. He now kneeled beside the chair, his expression one of rapt focus. Roxanne watched his eyes flicker over her lips as he drew her head from her hands. She let his fingers slip across her forehead, brushing her hair out of the way. They traced their way down her face, framing her cheek and jaw with addictively gentle touches. A heavy breath shuddered through Roxanne, drawing his eyes back up to her own. She watched his tongue dart out to lick his lips through half-lidded eyes.

"Roxanne," he breathed, leaning in just slightly, "You will be wonderful. You are intoxicating when you let yourself be." His eyes bore into her own, "You don't need to worry about a thing."

Roxanne felt a tremble run through her body. It was entirely unfair. When he looked at her like this and touched her this way, all she wanted to do was let go of whatever still bound her to her old life. Those fragile ties meant nothing in the face of the feelings that ran hot and cold with his presence. Minion's words were still echoing inside her head, however, and the concept of making a decision that would have to be trusted and followed forever gave her pause. Could she really give herself over to being his obsession?

"Did Minion finish the cape?" she whispered softly, the words working their way out of her mouth if only to buy her more time before such a decision would have to be made.

His lips curved into an honest smile. "Indeed," he gestured to a Brainbot who hovered just outside the bedroom. At the gesture, it floated its way in, a simple, long, black cape carried in its tentacles. Roxanne pulled herself up off the armchair, letting the bot arrange it about her shoulders. Rather than any elaborate collar or spikes or flared designs, the cape had only a simple hood which hung over the back of the cape. Altogether, the cape had a very nineteenth century feel, contrasting nicely with the rest of Roxanne's costume. She pulled on the elbow-length black leather gloves herself, relishing the buttery feel of the soft leather against her skin. All together, the costume would carry the suggestion of wickedness and tantalizing sexiness clashing with modesty and innocence. Which just about covered how Roxanne felt anyway.

She let her bathrobe fall from her arms, slipping it off beneath the shadow of the cape. The cape swished delightfully around her, billowing out like raven's wings around her slender form. "I love it," she murmured softly, gazing at her reflection.

A muted chuckle seemed to come from Syx's throat. "There's more," he continued, presenting her with a slightly shimmering, nearly transparent object.

Roxanne accepted the bizarre shape, her fingers recognizing the texture of cloth, even as her eyes failed to perceive the fabric itself. It was an invisibility cloak, apparently exactly the same as Syx's own. "You made one for me?" she asked, her eyes searching for his own.

He stepped forward, his hands catching hold of her own, the cloak masking portions of their hands in a disconcerting way. Roxanne felt her breath catch as she took note of his eyes. They were absolutely fierce in this moment. "If you need to escape," he began, his voice hushed but firm, "You slip this on and you get out of there. If something goes wrong, you get out of there. If Metro Man shows up, you get out of there. You don't look back." His eyes burned into her own, his hands clamped upon her own like vise grips. "Do you understand, Roxanne?" he prompted, his eyes searching her own.

"What about you?" she whispered. For the first time in a very long time, Roxanne felt a tinge of fear. She was starting to differentiate between the moods and mannerisms which were distinctly "Megamind," the often amusing master of villainy, and those which were not on display for all to see, which seemed to typify the real "Syx," even though most were unnaturally new to her. This moment, with his emerald eyes staring into her own, Roxanne was certain that only Syx was looking at her now. No signs of the persona of Megamind could be seen.

"I've been to prison before," he smirked bitterly, "And I'll go there again." He pulled her just slightly closer, "But prison is a place I never want you to have to see, Roxanne." His eyes burned into her own, "You deserve better than that."

Roxanne felt a shiver travel up her spine. This was the wicked creature who made her knees go weak, she realized. Here, he was entirely in control, his power uncontested. When it came to her safety and well-being, he would make no mistakes or careless errors. In this moment, he was all darkness and threats against those who would dare to harm or restrain her. For a second, Roxanne felt sorry for whoever might dare to threaten her. To have the full fury of _Syx_ upon them would be nothing like being attacked by Megamind.

He held her hands in a death-like grip for a very long moment, staring down at her in silence. The tendons in his jaw were still working, as if there were so much more he wanted to say. Roxanne lifted a hand, noting with uncertainty the fact that it was trembling. Her gloved fingertips ghosted over those flexing muscles and tendons in his jaw. "Roxanne," he groaned softly, his eyes falling shut at her touch. If this was a game, Roxanne realized, she was in far over her head. This creature was dangerous, and she knew full well just how far this could go. Yet, she couldn't shake her fascination. She traced his features with her gloved fingers, getting the impression that the touch of the leather, coupled with just the intensity of whatever _this _was between them, was as addictive to him as it was to her.

Her breath was already coming in shallow gasps when his eyes sprang open, the one hand he still held the connection he used to pull her in towards him. His lips met hers in a ferocious attack. A faint whimper escaped Roxanne's lips, only to be masked by his mouth. She felt her body melt against his. Everything about this side of him fascinated her. The hunger, the fierceness, the darkness; they fed her most hidden desires and fanned the flame in the depths of her body.

He pulled away suddenly. "Goodnight, my queen," he whispered in her ear, his breath against her sensitive skin leaving Roxanne weak. With a sense of loss tinged with relief, Roxanne let him leave her. "Twenty-nine," he beckoned to the bot who had carried her cloak and gloves. The willing bot trailed after him.

Roxanne swallowed hard, sitting heavily on the edge of her bed. Thirty-six glared at her. "What?" she gasped, "You really think I have any control over things when he's like _that_?"

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><p>In the end, Roxanne found herself carrying the de-gun. She gazed at it as it sat in her lap. Minion was driving, while Megamind tinkered with the particle decelerator. He turned backwards to look at her from the forward passenger seat. "Don't change the setting," he told her warningly, his voice almost a growl as he watched her finger run over the weapon's dial.<p>

Roxanne looked up at him, her nose wrinkled delicately. "Why is there a decoupage setting?" she asked, feeling bewildered.

He looked despairing at that one. "It's for Minion!" he exclaimed, settling back into the front seat with a huff. He muttered something that Roxanne failed to catch as she shook her head. The contrast between him now and last night was almost ridiculous. If it weren't for the fact that she had seen so many shades and gradations between the two extremes, she would have suspected that he actually had two personalities. As it was, she could only wonder if the discrepancy was a product of the compartmentalization skill Minion had mentioned. Psychologists would probably have a field day with him.

On the other hand, psychologists would probably have a field day with _her_. God only knew how many theories could be applied to recent events and thought patterns. Stockholm Syndrome would only be scratching the surface in her case.

At the pre-determined place, Roxanne switched the dial on her watch. A young brunette with shoulder-length hair and a sunny yellow dress appeared in the back seat. She met Megamind's gaze one last time, took a deep breath and opened the door of the invisible car, slipping out into the shadow of a doorway and attempting to appear entirely nonchalant, as if she had always been standing there. No one seemed to notice her on the fairly empty street. She gave a weak half-smile, shouldered her handbag and began walking the three blocks to the bank.

The central Metro City branch of the First National Bank stood just off the corner of First and Main, its imposing granite façade revealing the bank's long-time presence within the city. Roxanne stepped lightly up the few stairs to the bank's glass double doors. She hummed a small tune, seeming all the world like a young twenty-something, perhaps there to collect some funds to pay her rent or tuition at the art college. The fairly large purse bounced against her side, empty save for the de-gun.

Roxanne stood in the line-up, patiently waiting for a teller. She swung the purse a little carelessly, maintaining the appearance of an innocent, naïve young woman. She chattered sunny pleasantries to an older woman who stood in front of her in line, biting her lip to keep from cackling evilly at the sheer ridiculousness of the whole scene. Not one of them would know what hit them!

Patiently, she waited for her moment in front of the teller. Now, here was the one challenging moment. In one smooth motion, she was to draw the de-gun and turn the dial of the watch to reveal her true self. The hope was that surprise and shock would be enough to get the teller to cooperate and heap the bag full of a delightful amount of cash. In the meantime, Megamind was supposed to make his appearance, set the particle decelerator on anyone who attempted to stop the robbery, and thus fit in the beta test, along with lifting a significantly decent chunk of cash. It would also dissuade the populace from believing too fully the fantastic little fiction they had concocted in which they need not worry or fear that their city's super villain had left them for good.

The moment came, and Roxanne stepped up to the teller, the sunny brunette disappearing, leaving behind her slender, leather-clad and caped form. "I'd like to make a withdrawal," she said sweetly, the de-gun sitting on the counter, pointed towards the teller.

The teller was an older woman, perhaps in her mid-fifties. A touch of grey was sprinkled throughout her short, curled locks. She wore a pale pink skirt suit, which seemed much more pink as the blood drained out of the woman's face. "I… I…" the woman swallowed, fear on her features.

Roxanne felt some dark, twisted part of herself grow about ten sizes larger. The woman's fear was like a dirty cocktail, reinforcing both Roxanne's despair and her power. She tapped her long, gloved fingertips against the body of the weapon, "I'm waiting," she cooed, her voice carrying a note of evil she had never heard before in her own utterings.

"Of course, yes, Miss," the teller squeaked, accepting her purse and rapidly stuffing money from her teller drawer into the bag. It was roughly around that point that the rest of the bank caught on to the fact that a woman dressed in black leather and a flowing dark cape had appeared where there had not been one before and she was carrying a gun. And not just any gun, but Megamind's gun. Which was causing a frantic whisper among the clientele, as fresh rumours and theories began to make their rounds of the space.

Roxanne smiled lazily at the two guards who had begun to rush towards her. "Sorry, boys," she smiled, waggling her fingertips at them, "The bigger threat's behind you."

For at that very moment, Megamind appeared amid a cacophony of breaking glass. He stood cockily in the midst of the shattered fragments of the bank's double doors. "Ah ah ah," he scolded the two guards, who had turned to face this new threat, "Not so _fast_!" He shot the particle decelerator in their direction. For a long moment, the pair simply looked surprised. Then it became clear that they were, in fact, _still moving_. They were drawing their guns from their holsters in what looked like thoroughly sluggish slow motion.

By the time their hands had made it down to their sides, the teller was hefting the purse back over to Roxanne. Megamind stared at the semi-frozen pair. "Who else wants a taste?" he smirked, spinning to face the captive crowd, brandishing his new weapon with evident pride.

A conclusive decline of interest arose from the crowd, who went deathly silent as they watched Roxanne cross the floor to Megamind. "It works!" he crowed, his face alight with accomplishment.

"Why wouldn't it have?" Roxanne replied in a silken tone as she tossed the now bulging purse over her shoulder. She pulled an utterly innocent expression, "Shouldn't we be headed home now? I'm all done with the banking."

He met her wickedly amused gaze with his own, triumph seared across his features. He offered her his free arm, which she took without hesitation. The security guards wore expressions of horror, as they struggled against the fact that they could only move fast enough to get their hands on their weapons and the holsters unclipped before the dark pair strode confidently from the bank. Roxanne paused in the doorway, casting a glance back at the huddle of silent and fearful people within, "Well, Metrocity," she murmured wickedly, "Looks like it's a new era."

Roxanne smirked as they entered the street, full of unaware sheep who pointed in horror as they emerged into the sunlight. She gave her cape an extra swish, winking at a young man across the street who was fumbling with a camera. They heard and felt the invisible car arrive at the curb and stepped lightly down the few steps to slid gracefully into the vehicle. Activity on the street had drawn to a standstill, every eye on where the pair were supposed to still be, every mind wondering where was Metro Man?

Roxanne relished their fear for a long moment, her hands clasped lazily over the bulging bag of cash in her lap. "How do you feel?" Syx asked her, his voice a triumphant, comfortable hum as he stretched out indolently, his hands folded behind his head, the particle decelerator already safely stowed in its case by his feet.

Roxanne met his gaze and smirked darkly, "Dangerous," she replied, a playful tone in her voice as her hands crinkled the new bills which stuck out every which way from the top of the bag.


	13. Contemplation

**Pale Blue Shadows**

Author's Note:

FluffyFurball – I do agree with you there, love isn't _supposed_ to hurt. I just meant to point out that sometimes its unavoidable…

heymikey – I'm afraid there will be no babies in the near future. Which isn't to say they might not happen if this story stretches out long enough, just that they don't lie within my currently intended scope. But that's always subject to change…

To everyone else… thank you so much for your reviews and encouragement! I was just telling one of my friends that even though fanfiction writing is really my guilty pleasure (I'm supposed to be starting work on my own original stories), the feedback I get from you all is so addictive I just have to keep writing. And its good practice for my original stories when they eventually get written, at least, I keep telling myself that. :P

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><p><em>Chapter 13: Contemplation<em>

Roxanne sat in the park. Wearing the guise of a young woman with long, dark hair pulled tightly back into a ponytail, she had her legs crossed under her as she perched on a green-painted bench. Her gaze lingered over the lake where it spread out below the curve of the verdant hill that tapered down to the lake edge. She appeared to wear black jogging pants and a bright purple t-shirt which matched the Lulu lemon headband that wrapped around her temples. It had been agreed that she would wear no guise more than twice or so, at least until Syx had tweaked the disguise watches to accept alterations to the forms. It didn't seem to be a task high on his list of priorities, however. Metro Man's defeat loomed so tantalizingly close that only "The Plan" could truly hold his attention.

"The Plan" was the culmination of all these years of testing and pushing Metro Man's limits. The particle decelerator would counteract his super speed, the reflective fog particle gas his laser vision. The penguin and spider bots would frustrate and annoy, moving the hero out of his normally patient and unflappable mood. To every strength, Syx had located the weakness, and created something that could level the playing field.

It had been over a week since the bank heist. For days after, Roxanne had reveled in the new feeling of power that flowed through her emotions. Underlying every thought was the intoxicating taste of fear. Fear she had inspired, power she had wielded. It had been a heady elixir, and she had rarely left Syx's side as they plotted deviously over the exact parameters and variables of "The Plan." Roxanne had found she really did have a gift for isolating the very things Syx tended to overlook, along with a very human sense of reactions and psychology which he simply could not grasp or understand. She was rapidly becoming a partner in his operations and scheming. An equal.

Today, however, she had woken with the heady feeling gone. It was a Sunday, and she had felt drawn to the park, memories of her childhood filtering through her. Before her mother had moved to Chicago, she had taken Roxanne to the park every Sunday. It was this nostalgia which moved her to this spot, overlooking the lake. Idly, she had spent the morning watching teens zip by on their mountain bikes while mothers watched their toddlers with wary eyes as they played in the sandy playground.

A hollow, empty feeling filled her. For most of her life, these sights and sounds had filled her with a calm serenity. She had watched the mothers interact with their children with a calm assurance that some day that would be her. The teens who had zipped by reminded her of her own teenage years. The seniors who walked slowly through the park, hand in hand as they reminisced about their lives together, would bring a fond, sad smile to her face as she had dreamed about what she might say to that elusive life partner who would one day be hers. Taken together, she had felt a great kinship with the people around her. There had been a sense of acceptance and community, a cohesive unity that flowed through the park and through all of them. Life and the shared human experience moving her to feel like all was well in the world.

She felt none of these things now. Now, she found herself suspiciously assessing each person for signs of danger. Each person represented a part of the whole which had rejected her, casting her outside of the warm, comfortable circle of humanity. She had been subjected to indecent cruelties at the hands of the press, every aspect of her previous life opened to public scrutiny and rumour. There had apparently been nothing good or wholesome about anything she had ever done, and even those things done in good faith and with a warm heart had become symbols of her apparent duplicity in the eyes of Metrocity. She'd given up calling the city by its proper name. Any warm feelings she'd ever had for the city had evaporated. Suddenly, her sharp eyes could pick out the lonely and the broken-hearted. The individuals who had been ostracized by society, cast out to encounter the world alone.

Old men in dirty clothes dug through the park's rubbish bins, searching for recyclables they could take in to claim the meager refundable fee. The old men, often victims of not just socioeconomic hard times but often mental illness as well, left the trash that remained after their hunts strewn about the bins. Mothers who had once appeared to be cautiously caring of their young children now appeared weary and stressed. Some of them clustered in hushed, gossipy groups, casting evil eyes about them to find fodder for their cruelty. Others started bickering with parents who's children dared to come too near to their own. The teens who zipped by on their bikes seemed callous, uncaring of the damage their bikes did to the park when they went off-trail, which they did disturbingly often, and generally to cause some other mischief or misdeed.

This was the great legacy of Metrocity, Roxanne accepted sadly. A poisoned, venomous populace who prided themselves on being wonderful and accepting and kind when they were really nothing of the sort. She felt cold. The light breeze had picked up, whipping by her in a cold wind. Roxanne shivered. It was time to go home. There was nothing here that she wanted to see.

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><p>Roxanne dropped the hologram when she entered the lair, her eyes trailing warmly to the bots who were gathering around her, bowging a greeting. One nudged under her hand, "Hey, Twenty-three," Roxanne murmured, her fingers raking gently over the bot's sparking dome. A number of red-domed bots bowged jealously, forcing Roxanne to run a hand over all of them, "And hello to you too, Forty-nine, Fifty-six, and Twelve." She smiled at the bots. They warmed some of the chill that lingered in her heart. It was strange how supposedly emotionless bots had developed their own capacity to feel and care, and perhaps even love. She'd forced Syx into admitting that he didn't entirely understand some of the code that the bots had written and implemented into their own systems. The bots had discovered and developed emotion, she had claimed, pointing to Thirty-six, who was still sulking after his master, and Forty-two who was nearly inseparable from herself. Nothing and no one could care the way they did without having some emotion.<p>

He'd accepted she might be right. Her reward had been an evening of kisses that left her every nerve-end tingling and begging for more. She had hesitated, however, unwilling to make that next move now that she'd been rejected once. And still concerned about the idea of being his forever, though if she had to be honest with herself, he seemed to be barely in control of that already. She had a strong suspicion that if she left, he would follow her even now, perhaps to the ends of the earth. His darkness had already left some claim upon her and she could tell from the looks he gave her when he was least in control of himself that giving her up or letting her go would be something he would be intensely loathe to do.

Roxanne wandered through the lair, her fingers absently scratching the domes of the bots who were still vying for position under her hands which hung otherwise limply by her sides. The emptiness she'd felt in the park filled her still. She felt drained of life. She had become alienated from her own people and world, and had no one to blame for it except herself. The worst part of all though, was that she couldn't find it in herself to care. The creatures she had once viewed as fellow humans seemed more alien to her than the actual aliens with whom she spent her days. Human society seemed increasingly hypocritical and revolting to her. The fact that she had set herself outside of it had begun to seem inevitable.

But it left her hollow. All the dreams she'd once had of a wedding and children and a family had turned to dust and ash. She saw with brutal clarity the true evil of the world and the beings that filled it. She had become a villain in her narrative, but in doing so had somehow learned to see clearly. Nothing Syx did was truly immoral, and those whom he stole from did much that was. The entire world had become much more complicated since when she had been nothing but a reporter. Life as a villainess came with distance that welcomed clarity, and clarity welcomed reflection.

Society cast aside those who showed the most promise and who came closest to seeing the truth, Roxanne had realized. Intelligence and an inquiring mind were feared in a world where power was controlled by a concentrated group of individuals who held sway over the masses, who thought primarily like sheep. Could they even help it? Roxanne had wondered in a more charitable moment. Perhaps the sheep-like attitude was a product of the systems in which they lived. Perhaps education and policy and the very media she had once been part of were the tools used to restrain the very traits that made people worth knowing and talking to. Perhaps the sheepness was something that had been done to people. But the thought had come full circle. If it was something being done to people, shouldn't they have the guts to stand up to it? To fight back?

But they didn't. There was no resistance, only the comfortable stupor of consumerism and the less comfortable restraints imposed by the need to survive.

It was a pity, but maybe there was just nothing for it.

Roxanne turned a corner around a heavy, burgundy curtain, remaining half-hidden behind it as she caught sight of Syx. He seemed deeply focused upon the task before him. A number of switches and dials confronted him as he fiddled with settings. "Infernal piece of miserable machinery," she heard him mutter.

Every icy corner of her heart warmed. All the hopelessness and empty alienation vanished from her mood as she regarded the blue alien. After everything that had transpired, she wasn't actually alone. He'd taken her in, kept her safe and happy and spoiled, and given her a way to vent the frustration she felt at this newly discovered side of humanity. His bots and Minion gave her hope that there was still good in everyone, even though she was failing to see it in those who had once demonstrated it best in her eyes.

His dark, possessive gaze kept her from feeling lost or worthless. His kisses kept her from going numb. His ideas, his banter, and the challenges he posed to her made her feel smarter, brighter, and sharper than ever before. He believed in her in a way no one else ever had. Just watching him work left her heart feeling thawed out and relieved.

Roxanne swallowed hard. The truth was that just by coming here, she had made the decision inevitable. Being with him, so often and closely, and being valued as an equal by someone who, really, was utterly brilliant and wonderfully strange and by turns entirely loveable and dangerously desirable, had sealed her fate. She was his as completely as he was hers, and there was probably nothing that could change it now. Any point there had been in holding back this truth was already lost. There was nothing for her anymore out there in that lying, artificially sunshiny world. She had been seduced completely by the darkness. It was dangerous, yes, but it was honest about what it was. Syx could be terrifying, but he was also irresistible. For whatever reason, she belonged with him.

Roxanne's lips quirked into a smile as she noticed something odd about the machine Syx was trying to force into working order. She stepped out from behind the curtain, sashaying lightly over to the panel of switches and lights that flashed. She looked down at it for a moment, patiently ignoring Syx's scowl as he stared at her sudden appearance. "It won't work," he growled. Roxanne pursed her lips. With delicate fingers, she turned the dial marked "Energy Influx" up from zero to one hundred volts. The machine clanked into life, mechanical legs unfolding until the human-sized spider bot stood on its own power, its trio of red eyes fixating on Roxanne.

"Huh," Syx coughed slightly, staring at the robot with something between rage and sheepishness.

Roxanne turned away from the spider bot, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "I still don't understand why you have separate dials and switches for power and energy influx," she told him softly, "You always forget one or the other."

His forehead wrinkled in response as he spun on his heel away from her, hiding his frustration and embarrassment under cover of the smashing of various wrenches and screwdrivers and metallic panellings. Roxanne bit her lip, a wave of tender emotion washing over her. Without needing to think about it, she walked up behind him, and wrapped her arms around his torso. He stilled in her arms as she burrowed her face into the space between his shoulder blades. "Roxanne?" he whispered softly, curiosity lacing his tone.

Roxanne took a deep breath. There was so much she needed to tell him, to put into words, and she had no real idea how to say any of it. "I went to the park," she began softly, her voice partly muffled into his back, "I used to go every weekend with my mother before she moved. We used to watch the people there, the young couples in love, the old couples who cared for each other and remembered, the kids playing, the families having picnics…" her voice had grown wistful. "I used to feel like I was a part of something. Like I was a piece in the puzzle of life and I had a little place where I fit, and it all came together to make a beautiful picture."

He had frozen in her arms, and Roxanne could feel his body wilting slightly, misunderstanding where she was headed. She plowed onwards, relentless. He needed to know how she felt, and this was the only way to tell him that she knew how.

"When I went today," she continued in a voice little above a breath, "I felt nothing like that. Everywhere I looked, it was through new eyes. Everywhere there was hurt and suspicion and fear, and I realized that I was completely disconnected from everything. I didn't feel for the people or care about them. They hurt me too much, and everywhere I looked, they were reinforcing why I hate them. And I realized, the puzzle that they come together to make? It's not a beautiful picture at all. It's ugly and horrible and cruel." Roxanne swallowed back the passion in her dry throat. "They might not see how wonderful you are, but they're also too blind to see how terrible _they_ are. Every cruel, horrible thing they say and do, I don't even think they realize…" her breath caught in her throat, choking her slightly.

She pulled herself tighter to him, rubbing her cheek against his back as she took strength from his presence, "I'm glad I'm not one of them anymore. They leave me feeling cold and alone and isolated." She was silent for a long moment, the ice of those feelings washing over her with a raw pain. "And then I see you," she continued as the warmth of his body flowed slowly into her arms and the cheek she pressed against him. She sighed softly, unwrapping her arms from around him, "And its better. Because I remember I'm not alone. I have you."

He turned slowly, his green eyes staring at her in awe-struck wonder. The angle of his jaw was loose. She let one of her hands trail up the line of it. She wet her lips, a feeling of certainty filling her with the serene peace she had been searching for in the park. "You're all I want," she admitted softly, "Everything that I thought I knew has completely changed, but you're still here, still looking at me like I'm… someone worth knowing. And I think… I know that I've gone and ruined myself for anyone else but you."

"Roxanne?" his voice was a gasp, his hands loosely settled on her shoulders as if to steady himself, "What are you saying?"

Roxanne smiled hopelessly, absolutely no guard to her expression or her heart. "I love you, Syx," she said softly, meeting his clear green gaze, "I love you."


	14. Seduction

**Pale Blue Shadows**

Author's Note:

Hi All,

Sorry for the delay. Life happened (some bad, some good, all overwhelming). Special thank you's to Karen B. Jones and mommy2caitlyn, who took time to check on me. I loves all you guys who have taken time to review and cheer on this story. I'm so sorry for the unexpected hiatus – I honestly wasn't expecting it myself.

Love you all,

Dreamflight

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><p><em>Chapter 14: Seduction<em>

There was a long pause as Syx processed the unfamiliar words. Roxanne watched him with patient eyes. It had taken her a long time (years, if anyone was being honest) to arrive at this conclusion, and she wasn't going to be surprised if it took the blue, big-headed object of her affections time to understand, accept, and otherwise come to grips with her statement.

It was almost adorable to watch as the meaning of all she had said really soaked in. His green eyes widened slowly, pupils dilating. His mouth was parted just enough that she could see his devilishly sharp, white teeth. After a moment, the slackness of his jaw tightened and his lips pressed closed. His eyes fixated on Roxanne, and she felt a thrill run down her spine. One hand snaked around her waist and pulled her close to him, but he paused when his forehead bumped lightly into hers.

"Roxanne," he whispered, his voice deeper and huskier than she had heard it yet, "Do you have idea what you do to me?"

Roxanne slithered even closer to him, the curves of her body fitting softly against the straight, lean lines of his. "Not really," she whispered seductively, "You haven't really told me." She paused, her breath coming in long slow drags. "Or shown me," she added finally, the invitation in her voice clear.

The sound Syx responded with was almost inhuman, a cross between a pained groan and a growl. His entire body reverberated with the tone, driving vibrations through Roxanne's body. Without conscious thought, Roxanne shivered against him. "Roxanne," he growled against her ear, "If you let me show you, I will never let you go again."

Roxanne swallowed calmly, making sure her voice held no trace of hesitation. She angled her head so her lips brushed against the edge of his ear, delighting in the faint moan that slipped from him. "I don't want you to," she whispered as a faint grin spread across her lips.

Syx's hold on her waist tightened. Very suddenly, Roxanne found herself backed up against one of his worktables. The raw wood of the tabletop ground into the small of her back under the pressure of their bodies. Syx's mouth found hers and hungrily exploited her momentary surprise. His lips danced across Roxanne's, pulling brief gasps and moans from her as she clung to him, helpless in the face of his passion. Even a few weeks ago, she would never have believed any of this would be happening, but now it seemed that she would truly love nothing more than to drown in his kisses.

His lips were by turns fierce and soft, almost teasing in his manner, and Roxanne felt her knees go strangely weak. Her back was increasingly curved over the table, tools and scraps of technology and metal threatening to make her life increasingly uncomfortable. Roxanne pulled away from Syx's lips regretfully. She opened her eyes to find him staring at her with an unnatural brightness to his eyes. His lips ran over his lips, fascinating Roxanne and diverting her attention for a long moment. She pulled herself away from his gaze, twisting sideways to survey the table's contents. With only a moment's hesitation, she swept an arm across the table, clearing it effectively of potentially dangerous debris. When she turned back to her lover, his eyelids had dropped, giving him an aura of dangerous desire.

In a moment, his grip on her waist had tightened again, and Roxanne found herself perched on the edge of the table. Her breath caught in her throat as her lifted her with apparent ease to the position. His face was now a few inches below her own, and in a lust-filled haze, she immediately decided that the only appropriate action here was to take advantage of that slight difference in height. Roxanne began at his lips, but quickly traced her hungry mouth across his jawline, pausing just below his ear to nip at the fragile, sensitive skin there. He jerked slightly in her embrace, and Roxanne felt suddenly powerful. In her arms, under the spell of her words and her touch, was a supervillain. Momentarily tamed, she held one of the world's most potentially dangerous men, and one of the only aliens her species had ever encountered.

Roxanne smiled darkly, her lips tracing the shape of his ear, pausing to bite down gently on his earlobe, pulling at it just slightly. His grip on her tightened, even as he began to pull her back into him. His hands ran heavily down the few inches from her back to her buttocks, his thumbs already straying under the hem of her top. Roxanne let a pleased sigh escape her lips, the warmth of her breath ghosting across his ear. She squeezed her legs slightly around her lover's slim form, experimenting with the contact. A second growl escaped him as his lips plundered the curve of her neck. His sharp teeth rasped lightly across the sensitive skin, his kisses becoming open mouthed as they demanded more from her throat.

Roxanne let her head tip forward, angling so her own lips could explore the arch of exposed blue skin. Gently, she pressed kisses along Syx's neck, breathing lightly as she dragged her lips across his skin. She felt Syx pause, his throat working slightly as the faintest of gasps slipped from his lips and into her shoulder. Roxanne lifted her lips from his skin, her lips twisting into a smirk as she opened her mouth slightly, baring her teeth as she sunk back into the curve of his neck. Her teeth dragged across his pulse point, a slight nip of smooth skin the final flourish.

Syx shuddered against her, his hands slipping completely under the light fabric of her shirt, as he pulled her tighter against him. "Again," he hissed softly, his hands working the hem of her top up with painstaking care. Roxanne smiled against his skin, a faint blush creeping into her cheeks as she momentarily came to herself. Syx was seconds from pulling her top right off her, she was perched on the edge of one of his work tables, her legs wrapped around him, and Minion or the Brainbots could come in at any time. Roxanne let her eyes flutter closed as she pressed another series of gentle kisses against his neck. She found that she didn't really care what the world thought any more. She loved Syx, and she was damned if anyone was going to stop them at this point. Her lips parted as his hands traced lines across the sides of her ribcage. She bite down again, harder this time, and tightened her legs around Syx even as he pulled her even closer against him. His hands lingered for a long moment in the place just where the soft mound of her breasts melted into her sides. His breath was ragged against her shoulder.

Roxanne tilted herself away from him for a brief moment, her eyes meeting his as he lifted his head in surprise. His eyes looked almost black, swamped with desire for her. Roxanne felt as if she were finally alive. Nothing else really mattered but this moment. She'd made her choice, and Syx was it. Whatever came hereafter, they would be in it together. He was in her heart and her head and almost irrationally, she craved that he be in her very skin. In a moment that felt like eternity, Roxanne felt some fraction of her feelings pass in between them. He leaned in and pressed a shockingly soft kiss to her lips. He pulled away just enough to look at her evenly. His emerald eyes bored into her, seeing her all the way down into her soul. "I love you, Roxanne," he whispered, "Completely."

Roxanne had only a moment in which to wet her lips before he had pulled away from her and whipped off her top, all in one smooth action. The cooler air of the lair met her hot skin and sent a jolt of surprise through Roxanne. Syx's green eyes flashed at her in wicked delight for only a moment before they sank to take in her form. His cool fingers were tracing shapes lightly across her skin again, snagging momentarily on the lace of her bra. Roxanne let herself relax against his body. Shivers ran through her as his fingertips danced across her bare back and belly. The sensation was exquisite, but she wanted so much more. The gentle touches were only fanning the flames she was feeling, feeding the desire to know nothing of the world but him. She could get lost in his touch. If the universe had any romantic sensibilities at all, she figured she would.

In the moment she was about to loosen her legs, Syx scoped his hands under her bottom, holding her to him in a way that sent any fears Roxanne had had fluttering out the door. She squashed a faint squeak and tightened her legs around him more firmly, even as her arms wrapped fiercely around his neck. "What are you doing?" she exclaimed. Her voice coming out as a breathy whisper, which seemed more intoxicated than demanding.

"Taking you some place where I can conduct a much more thorough investigation," he replied, his words spoken at her temple.

"Investigation?" she murmured, bemused at herself for being slightly aroused by his phrasing.

"Indeed," he whispered, his lips pressing against her hair, as he deftly navigated the lair to the secret entrance to the house, "I want to know how close my imaginings were to reality."

Roxanne shivered deliciously against him in response. Knowing that he had wanted her for far longer than either of them were really willing to admit was almost as intoxicating as the press of his hands against her bottom, or the dance of his lips against her temple and her hair. The strangely compact muscles of his body were strong against her, even as he carried her with apparent ease.

The pair slipped through the kitchen behind Minion's back as he puttered away at the kitchen stove. Neither noticed the knowing smile on the fish's face as he listened to his Master carry his prize down the hall.


	15. Encountered

**Pale Blue Shadows**

Author's Note:

And finally… I earn my M rating. (Those who actually don't want to read my first attempt at actual smut, ignore this chapter).

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><p><em>Chapter 15: Encountered<em>

Roxanne hit the bed with a slight bounce. Syx hovered above her, his eyes staring down at her in unabashed awe. He had aimed a kick at the bedroom door to close it on his way in, but it had failed to close entirely. Except, of course, for the efforts of Forty-two, who nudged the door closed. Roxanne let her eyes follow the bot, who strayed over to Roxanne's head for a moment and stared at the two tangled humanoids. Roxanne felt a blush creep over her cheeks. "Shoo," she hissed at the bot, her blush deepening as she felt Syx's gaze linger on her. Forty-two's single red eye seemed to widen for a moment, before it silently whooshed to the foot of the bed, wrapped a few tentacles around Thirty-six, and dragged the other bot into the bathroom. The door slammed soundly.

Roxanne let her eyes drift back to Syx's. He was staring down at her with an amused smirk on his lips. "What?" she asked sheepishly, suddenly feeling too exposed, despite still being mostly clothed.

"You," he murmured, dipping his head to kiss her lips, "You are the single most delightful, wonderous, exceptional being on this planet."

Roxanne felt a rush of love for him. "I love you too," she whispered against his lips, between the gentle drive of his kisses. His hands lingered slowly on her hips, rubbing them slightly, his fingers grazing her exposed skin gently. Roxanne let her hands linger on his shoulders for a long moment, simply cherishing the sensation of his gentle kisses. But there was a slow burn rising inside her, and she wanted so much more than just this gentleness. There were new things they needed to explore.

Roxanne ran her hands down Syx's back, smoothing slowly across the planes and angles of his muscles. Different from a human male's, but perfect to her. His strangeness was only intriguing. It took nothing away from her desire and only added to her natural curiosity. She found the edge of his shirt, and tugged experimentally. The fabric had an almost rubbery feel, but gave under her efforts, peeling upwards like any other tight-fitting material. With one solid yank, she pulled the material upwards, satisfied by the look of surprise on Syx's features as he lifted himself off her just long enough for her to pull the offending garment over his head. She wasn't going to lie, she was impressed with the material for stretching that much.

He was staring at her with that strange look of amusement again, shaking his head slowly as he regarded her. "It has a zipper, you know," he murmured dryly.

Roxanne smiled sheepishly. "Oh well?" she whispered in reply, her eyes dancing with silent laughter as she stared up at her lover. His frame was slender but muscular. Muscles that seemed to occur at just slightly odd angles and positions defined his body. They seemed compact, but strangely tighter and stronger looking than human muscles. With fingertips that shook only slightly, Roxanne traced them gently. She watched his eyes slide shut as his body trembled under her touch.

"Roxanne," he whispered huskily, his eyes still closed. Roxanne let her gaze flicker between his face and his chest, drinking in the look of intoxicated pleasure he wore, and the strange, but deeply satisfying planes her fingertips were currently exploring. His head tilted forward slowly, his eyes opening to drink her in. She stared mesmerized up into them as she swallowed hard. Desire was swamping her completely. She wasn't certain how this was going to work. A part of her mind hadn't quite yet wrapped around the physicality of actually _being_ with Syx. Which wasn't too say it wasn't desirable. Laying there, their half naked bodies pressed together, trembling in their shared embrace, there really didn't seem to be anything more desirable ever.

"Have you ever," Roxanne paused, her hushed voice dying in her throat, "Have you ever done this before?" It was an awkward question to ask, but there was a part of her that wondered if she needed to lead this, to guide him in the right direction. A part of her was a bit disappointed by the thought. She wanted him to have control over her, really truly, for this once. It seemed like it should be that way. At the same time, the thought of anyone else loving him, anyone else being with him like this, in such an intimate way, was completely abhorrent. Any other woman who touched him… just shouldn't exist.

He stared down at her, his emerald eyes unreadable for a long moment. "Once," he admitted softly. Something rose fiercely inside Roxanne's gut, something darkly possessive and enraged. How could he not be hers alone? He'd loved her for years. When or why or who or how… Roxanne shook her head slightly, fending off the strangely violent thoughts. He was still watching her, his expression thoughtful. "I never thought," he began softly, "I never thought I would have the chance otherwise."

Roxanne bit her lip slightly. It was true enough. Whatever the situation, he had been alone and lonely for a very long time. And she herself had had several lovers before. Who was she to deny him one encounter? "It's ok," she murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down towards her, "As long as I'm the only one now."

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his lips pressing kisses against the lines of her tendons. "Always," he murmured, "Forever," his teeth dragged slightly against her neck, "As long as you'll have me."

Roxanne felt a rush of sadness within her. "Syx?" she said softly, pressing up against his chest. "Syx," she pulled against him so that his eyes were level with her own. A frown crossed her lips. "I love you," she enunciated, keeping her voice and her gaze level, "I **love** you." She saw a flicker of something cross behind his eyes. "No," she said with a sigh, "Not 'I love you for now' or 'I love you because I have nowhere else to go'. I love you. Part of me has always loved you. I…" she swallowed hard, suddenly unable to hold his gaze. "I need you. I think I've needed you for a very long time. Even… even before everything. I know I played that I didn't care and that I was bored and…" A wayward strand of hair fell across her face, "You were the best part of my day."

When she finally looked up, disconcerted by the silence, he was staring at her with luminous eyes. Blue fingers brushed her hair out of her face, delicately depositing it behind her ear. In silence, he lowered her back down to the bed, his hands quickly doing the work of removing her remaining outer layers, even as his eyes never left her own. Roxanne shivered in his hands, her skin set aflame under the gentle caress of his hands. She lifted herself slightly as his hands went around her back, deftly unhooking the clasp of her bra. With only a second of hesitation, she let the garment slip away from her body and into his waiting hands. Dimly, she knew he had deposited it somewhere over the edge of the bed, but her eyes never left his as they stared into her own, worshipful and earnest and silently asking if this was still alright as each new second passed upon them.

His gaze finally fell as his hands lifted, gentle and tentative in their explorations. Roxanne gasped as his fingertips traced the curve of her breast, a long sigh escaping her lips as his hands cupped each generous mound individually. His breathing was suddenly heavy, his hands shaking slightly as they smoothed across her skin. Roxanne tilted her head to watch him, mesmerized by the expressions that played across his face as he explored her upper body. He glanced up at her, his slack lips suddenly twisting into a wicked smirk. Before she had time to question, he had dipped towards her, his lips wrapping gently around a nipple and sucking with terrible gentleness.

Roxanne gasped again, her eyes widening when he looked up at her, his green eyes wickedly pleased, even as his mouth stayed fastened to her breast. It was undoubtedly the most deliciously tantalizing sight she had ever witnessed. His sharp teeth dragged across the sensitive skin of her breast, forcing a moan to escape her lips as she threw back her head. It was too much. Every nerve ending was coming alive as he suckled at her breasts, biting and nipping at each in turn. Roxanne writhed under him, overwhelmed, but starving for more. Much more.

With a sudden flash of lust, Roxanne found herself wiggling out of her panties, kicking them down her leg and out from between their bodies. Syx paused in his ministrations, his eyes flashing dangerously as he regarded the look of wild abandon she gave him as she ran her fingers along the waistband of his pants. The black leather felt delightful against her bare skin, but she needed the skin-to-skin contact. She was starved for it. Her fingers found purchase and pulled downwards.

There was a line of fine, short black hairs that trailed down his well-defined torso. Roxanne stole a glance as she pulled the pants down as far as she could reach. He didn't wear any undergarments, which forced an evil smirk to her own lips. She had suspected as much. After all, she couldn't imagine that hemlines could be rendered invisible under such tight materials. Though, other things had certainly been… minimized. He wasn't huge, though she wouldn't go so far as to describe him as small. A tasteful average, she guessed, as she let her feet finish the job of undressing him. She met his gaze shyly, the evil smirk still on her lips.

His eyelids were half closed, lust clouding his features. Roxanne let her smirk deepen as one hand wrapped itself around his length lightly. She let her fingers trace over him, feeling the minute differences, learning just what caused him to gasp or exhale raggedly against her neck. She bit her lip again, her hand timidly pulling him ever so slightly into her.

"Roxanne," he whispered into her ear, pulling himself above her to gaze down at her. There was a trace of worry on his features, coupled with intense love and lust.

She arched into him slightly, the fire in her veins at a fever pitch. "Please?" she whispered, grinding up against him slowly but meaningfully. She watched his eyes close partly, a tight hiss escaping his lips. "I love you," she said, the words slipping from her in the same instant he lost the battle with himself. He pushed forward into her and Roxanne whimpered softly. He paused for a long moment, and Roxanne felt her heart flutter, even as her body screamed against the stillness. She arched against him again, her body forcing the motion she so craved. "Please?" she repeated again, the word a helpless plea as her body acted on its own will.

He groaned slightly above her, his own body taking the cue and rocking slowly into her. There was something wonderfully harmonized about the moment. As if they were entirely in tune with each other and the rest of the world has ceased to exist around them. They existed together, finally, completely together, and there was truly nothing that would sunder them. Kisses spilled across each others mouths, necks, shoulders. They were a tangle of helpless lust that guided them across the vastness of that space between two hearts. Together, they fell over the edge of something, taking a leap into the dark, holding onto only each other. They were lost in something much bigger then themselves, and the universe seemed to explode, coalesce, and become reborn all in the time that passed around them as they came to truly know each other.


	16. Broken Glass

**Pale Blue Shadows**

Author's Notes:

I knew that having it not be Syx's first time was going to be controversial. But being realistic about life in North America, asking people in their late-twenties-ish to have never experimented or gotten curious about sex seems a little… unbelievable. Besides which, this is part of my evil plan. But to answer a few pressing questions, no, Syx's first sexual encounter was not rape. Also, no, he was not fixated or obsessed. Minion's explanation of the whole process suggests that it needs to be a somewhat lengthy process. Syx simply thinking that he might never get the chance to experience sex and the physical aspects of love in no way suggests that he was looking for a mate or anything remotely like that. It suggests instead an emotionally vulnerable and lonely state, maybe bordering on desperation or fear of never getting to ever connect with another being in that way. And remember Minion suggested that Syx had been thinking of Roxanne hopelessly as a potential mate for a long, long time. Hopelessness eventually translates to desperate measures. The fact that it was only the once suggests that intellect and honesty with himself helped him be strong enough to avoid such things again.

helikesitheymikey – I think you need to write your own story, sweetie! I think my story has made it pretty clear that Syx is an **entirely** different species from humans, with entirely alien features. Maybe it's the fact that I'm a biologist by training, but I'm afraid that unless some hefty genetic manipulation is involved, I feel its pretty categorically impossible for Syx to naturally have babies with humans. In other AUs, its probably possible, but the way I've set this up, Syx and Roxanne would (will?) have to get creative in a lab before they can produce offspring. Which isn't to say they wouldn't, I just think that it will be outside the scope of this story. Same goes for life spans and species changes… valid and interesting story fodder, but outside what I have planned for this said… you should totally consider writing those ideas into your own story. I think it would be totally fascinating, and if you wrote it, I'd love to read it!

As to the rest of your questions, I promise they will be answered. In time. (I'm sorry, I'm just a tad evil that way.)

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><p><em>Chapter 16: Breaking Glass<em>

Roxanne's favourite part about her new career was definitely the flexible work hours and unlimited vacation time. She stretched leisurely, her body sliding lithely through the silken sheets as she curled her body around Syx's. She sighed contentedly. She'd lost count of exactly how many days they had spent in this love-drunk state of being. Several times they had gotten out of bed, voicing earnest intentions towards getting breakfast (or dinner) and getting back to work. Of course, eating had turned out to be an entirely distracting event. There was far too much involving tongues and teeth and lips, and the newly awakened awareness of each other had seemingly tuned them both into an intoxicated state. Sometimes, they maintained their determined focus long enough to make it from the kitchen into the lab or into a workroom. But one look at that incriminating bare work bench in the lab, or too close a brush of each other in the workrooms, would inevitably throw them back into each others arms.

Roxanne had felt guilty the first few times. Really, she had. She'd never had such freedom to indulge in her life. Few people ever did, she figured. Life put too many demands on a person for them to literally spend just days getting nothing done except exploring the precise angle of their lover's jaw line (67 degrees) or the number of sensitive places on their neck (nine) or the exact texture of their skin, both free of and coated in a thin sheen of sweat. It was liberating. It was intoxicating. It was exciting. It was wonderful. It was love, pure and simple.

He had spent hours tracing the exact curvature of her legs. His inquiring eyes insistent on the exercise in deliberately teasing motion. It might have taken a little bit less time if Roxanne hadn't insisted on distracting him once or twice. Or four times, actually. If anyone was counting.

"Good morning, Roxanne," Syx murmured, pressing his lips lightly against her temple as Roxanne squirmed even closer into his embrace. She smirked wickedly.

"You mean 'Good evening,' my love," she replied, rolling onto her belly so she could observe his eyes. His wonderful, brilliantly green eyes that seemed to convey all sorts of wonderfully wicked and worshipful things to her.

His lips quirked into a grin. "Is it evening again already?" he asked innocently, his smile betraying his pride and pleasure in his abilities to keep the delightful object of his affections trapped in his bed. Or was it their bed now? The idea appealed to the both of them as they swam in the dizzying haze of lust and delight.

They did eventually make it back out of bed. A quick look at the calendar suggested that The Plan was going to have to be pushed back by… perhaps a week, but neither Syx or Roxanne felt that there had been any sort of loss there. They were the masters of their own fate, and, they both conspired wickedly, of Metro Man's.

The Plan was essentially composed of five major elements. The only part on which they disagreed being the fifth. Parts One through Four focused on disabling their over-powered foe, and thus all essentially built upon previous inventions and attempts Megamind had made to test and limit his nemesis. Part Five, however, was a contentious issue. Roxanne stared at the complex plans Syx had created to harness the power of the sun to create a super-concentrated beam of solar power to wipe out Metroman and she wondered aloud, why they didn't simply use the "DE-stroy" setting on the De-gun?

Syx blinked at her, his jaw working silently in that confused way of his. He looked terribly ashamed for a long moment. "The 'DE-stroy' setting doesn't work," he finally admitted, "I could never get it to calibrate properly. The difference between realigning particles into a semi-dehydrated, temporary framework and between forcing them apart entirely and completely is just… vast."

Roxanne gazed at her partner askance. "But," she began, "Doesn't that… not really make sense? I mean, simply destroying a particle framework… that would increase entropy. And the laws of physics suggest that increasing entropy has to happen. So, really, it should take less energy to destroy than to realign particles into a new framework."

Syx gazed at her with a look of pride, "You've been reading those books I set aside for you!" He looked positively thrilled.

Roxanne gave him a gratifying smile. "You still haven't made any sense out of this," she reminded him.

He shrugged, "The DE-hydrate setting doesn't break any bonds. It just creates new ones. The energy it takes to break some of the chemical bonds found in the human body on the molecular level is simply astronomical. The only way to reduce the necessary power input would be to include some sort of catalyst that could create a chemical reaction that breaks the bonds. But even that wouldn't act very quickly." He shook his head, "The result would likely be something terribly typical, with bits of flesh and blood flying everywhere. Not exactly elegant. And terribly messy. Who'd want to clean up bits of Metro Man?"

"But he'd be dead," Roxanne pointed out, feeling that her partner's desire for elegance should, by this point, be somewhat trumped by the desire to see Metro Man eliminated.

Syx stared at her for a long moment, "But it would be so messy. And the setting doesn't work anyway." He watched her as she stared off into the distance, her mind working away at chemical formulas at the intersection of biology and chemistry.

"Maybe," she agreed softly, even as her own newly-freed mind spun away into strange directions. "Maybe."

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><p>The setting of this most dramatic battle had to be carefully selected in order to minimize possible interference and danger to innocent bystanders, while still being visible enough to make a statement. Syx had hummed over a satellite image of the city for well over an hour before Roxanne had finally lost her patience with the exercise. "Why don't we go with the abandoned warehouses in the old industrial section?" she demanded.<p>

Syx hadn't even diverted his gaze. "They aren't abandoned," he replied disinterestedly.

Roxanne stared at him for a long moment, watching his elegant fingertips hover over the screen before him, his lips moving over the complex formulas that he'd determined would predict the probabilities of danger, success, and presentation style. The greens and blues and greys of the satellite map cast a strange glow across his features, leaving portions of his face in shadow. "What do you mean they aren't abandoned?" Roxanne said finally. "I think I would have known if…"

"You would have known," Syx nodded, his eyes still on the screen, "If Metro Man had wanted you to. But he had probably incriminated himself enough in your eyes."

Roxanne's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What do you mean, Syx?" she grated out, the simmering rage that Metro Man's name invoked sparking into life.

Syx sighed, dragging his gaze regretfully form the map. "Roxanne," he began slowly, "As a reporter, you reported on what the city wanted you to report on. You made some headway into Metrocity's darker side when you looked into the DUI issue. But you barely scraped the surface of it." His expression was earnest, begging her to remain calm. "There's evil everywhere, Roxanne. Those warehouses are home to various drug dealers and prostitution rings, most with incriminating ties to city council members. And the Scott family."

Roxanne swallowed hard, her eyes darting away from Syx's gaze. She knew it was true. News was never really as soft as what she had reported. She had known that, deep down. Denial had been the product of trusting Metro Man, trusting Wayne Scott, to be the honest, upright person he had always presented himself as being. It was all a lie. Perhaps Wayne was a decent person somewhere deep down inside, but his image, and apparently his family's image, had ultimately proven more important to him than any actual enforcement of justice or truth. It was really all par for the course at this point. Every extra thing she found out about him, about Metrocity as a whole, just further shattered the perfect image she had once believed in.

"So," Roxanne swallowed against the lump that had formed in her throat, "Why don't we use that area? I mean, if its just full of evil anyway. And wouldn't it make for a grand presentation? The ultimate revelation of Metro Man's tolerance of actual evil?"

Syx stared at her for a long moment, his green eyes shining vividly in the darkness. "Always a nosy reporter, aren't you, love?"

Roxanne stepped closer to him, invading his space. "Why shouldn't I be?" she breathed. "I may not love Metrocity any more, but don't people still deserve to know the truth about their precious hero and their 'wonderful' city?"

Syx inhaled a shuddering breath, "I think you may be even better at being evil than I am, temptress."

Roxanne leaned forwards, letting his forehead rest against her lover's. "I learned from the best," she murmured seductively, her fingers falling like delicate dancers across his shoulders.


	17. Red Light

**Pale Blue Shadows**

Author's Notes:

Dark alert. No fluff here. Please don't hate me.

_Chapter 17: Red Light_

Roxanne wore a face with traces of Asian descent. Naturally dark hair was slicked back into a tight bun, as her ever blue eyes regarded the dim streets of the old industrial district. The turquoise sheath dress she wore left little to the imagination, but the long, black leather boots gave the outfit an aura of danger. Which made sense, as the boots themselves appeared to have knives sheathed on the inside of each shin. Of course, there was no way to actually use them, being merely images, but Roxanne was content with the effect. She might look like a prostitute, but damn, she wasn't one you would want to mess with.

She could have gone with a tough guy image, but there was something faintly squicky about taking on the face of a male. It wasn't a step she was interested in taking, at all. Syx had shrugged at her selection. "It works," he'd acknowledged without a second glance, adopting the guise of a middle aged man with all the trappings of middle management. Only his vivid green eyes betrayed his identity to Roxanne's keen eyes. They would venture into dangerous territory wearing the masks of its natural inhabitants and patrons.

Dark shadows crept through tight alleyways and up rusted escape stairs. Raucous laughter mixed with hopeless cries from steel doors that sat just slightly ajar and industrial garage doors that rested a mere five inches from the ground, propped open by discarded tin cans and junk. Puddles of darkness settled like old ink beneath broken lights, the few which maintained their integrity spreading a grimy orange light up and down the throughways. The odd cluster of scantily clothed women stood near half-open doors, wreathed in smoke clouds. Their eyes squinted suspiciously behind layers of makeup and exhaustion. A few snickers accompanied their deadened conversations, as their eyes slid greedily over the couple. Painted lips lifted into slight sneers which vanished when other, more solitary beings stepped into their view. Potential customers got a different show.

"What is this place?" she murmured, her arms instinctively shuddering slightly against her present environment.

"The bad part of town," Syx smirked sadly. He frowned at her, "You need to act like it doesn't effect you."

Roxanne met his eyes with a question in her own. "You're too obviously uncomfortable," he admitted gently, "You're supposed to live here and work here. Nothing should phase you. If either of us gets to look nervous, it'd be me." His eyes fell darker, "But most of them don't really. They're too secure in the knowledge that everything is hidden. The truth veiled from the general public."

Roxanne bit her tongue, schooling her nerves. "Haven't we seen enough to figure out The Plan?" she asked quickly, eager to leave these sickened shadows and disturbingly silent exchanges between shadowed figures.

Syx gave her a short nod, "I believe so. There's always the satellite images, after all."

"Good," Roxanne replied, "Cause I am _so_ ready to get out of here."

"Hey, chicky," a dangerously smooth voice dripped out of the shadow of a building, "Are you just gonna lead your man around, or are you gonna actually make any money tonight?" A long leg in violently red stiletto heels jutted out of the shadow. "I've been watchin' you for the last twenty minutes, sweetie, and I gotta tell ya, if ya don't get to it soon, he's gonna look for someone who will."

Roxanne pulled up short, a snarl on her lips as the owner of the leg slid into full view. A lit cigarette dangled carelessly from poisonous red lips. "Whatcha think, handsome?" the woman addressed Syx, eyeing him from top to bottom, "Wanna go for a more experienced trip? I promise I can make you see stars in 90 seconds or less."

"Back off," Roxanne barked, her voice sounding unfamiliar in her ears. The woman raised one eyebrow artfully, her short brown pixie cut accenting her blue eyes. The woman raised her hands as if in surrender, even as she tossed her head back and laughed.

She met Syx's gaze over Roxanne's shoulder, and despite the tangible rage that flowed off her. "I am serious," the woman said in honeyed tones, "Anyone can tell she's new to the street, no matter how feisty she looks. You want someone with a little experience, trust me on this."

Syx shifted awkwardly at Roxanne's elbow, his voice apparently lost as his jaw worked in silent frustration. "That's fine," Roxanne ground out, "I'm sure I'll see to his needs _just fine_."

The woman continued to gaze at Syx with a curious expression, finally slipping from the wall on which she leaned to step closer to Syx. She peered at him in the orange-tinted light. "You've been here before," she murmured softly, staring at him like a predator stares at her prey. "I know I've seen you before."

Syx seemed to finally find his voice, "You're mistaken," he replied, brushing past her and grasping Roxanne's elbow in one smooth motion. "I've never seen you before."

The woman's hand flew out so quickly, Roxanne missed the exact moment it made contact with Syx's shoulder. "No," the woman murmured, her eyes gazing deep into Syx's. "Two years ago. May. It was… unseasonably hot that night." Her voice oozed something Roxanne couldn't interpret. "You were… very different."

Roxanne heard Syx's teeth grind as he wrapped one hand distastefully around the woman's wrist, removing her hand from his shoulder. "I promise you," he spat, "We've never met." He pulled Roxanne slightly closer, his footsteps suddenly falling faster than Roxanne had expected.

"What the hell was that?" Roxanne hissed. "Was she on drugs or is that just how they act?" She shook her head violently, "That was just… ridiculous. I mean, how could a woman _act_ like that? I mean, you would _never_… not with someone like _that_…"

"Oh sweetie," the woman's voice called out through the darkness, "You might have forgotten, but I could _never_ forget eyes like yours."

Roxanne's voice died in her throat, her tongue suddenly so dry it stuck to the roof of her mouth. Her jaw clenched tight, imperceptible jolts of tension squeezing their way down the tendons of her neck. Suddenly, there was a pressure against her temples, as if some part of her brain was exploding or having some sort of silent nuclear melt down. The silence of the night encroached on her. Syx's grip on her elbow was so tight it bordered on painful. He was as quiet as she was. The silence sat heavily between them, compressing the air until Roxanne was certain she could barely breath without choking.

The warehouses of the old industrial district gave way to the subsidized housing area. It was far enough. "Eyes?" Roxanne whispered, pulling her elbow violently from Syx's grip. "Eyes?" her voice grew louder and higher in pitch. The pressure in her temples had become a deep-seated throb. "Eyes?" She angled her body so that she could stare at his profile, dimly lit in the neglected streetlights.

His jaw line was possibly tenser than her own, but no sympathy rose up within her. "She recognized your _eyes_," she spat, "You _can't change the eyes_."

Syx fixed his gaze on her coolly. "What does it matter?" he asked, his voice sounding hollow in her ears, the defeat in his tone lost on her. "It was two years ago. It… I didn't…" His mouth moved but Roxanne heard no real sound.

"A _hooker_?" she heard herself exclaim, disbelief and betrayal colouring the demand. "You slept with a _hooker_?" The knowledge that she had not been his first had stung. For his first to have been a sleazy, slutted up prostitute in the dingiest, darkest part of town… it seemed utterly unspeakable. It changed… her entire perception of him. Her entire… "Do you have any idea how _stupid_ that was?" she demanded. "Do you have idea how _dangerous_ that is? There's… diseases and… and I trusted you!"

Roxanne literally trembled with her rage, the expressionless look on Syx's bland, borrowed face only fanning the flames of her fury. She shook her head, disgust plain on her face. She turned the watch dial so she could stare at him without looking like a prostitute herself. "What the hell, Syx?" she demanded.

He sighed, twisting his own watch dial. In the darkness, in the light of this discovery, his face looked more alien than it ever had to Roxanne before. "I thought…" Roxanne paused, swallowing hard, "I thought you had standards." She knew that she was on the verge of tears. She knew she needed to get away. "I can't look at you right now," she said firmly, turning on her heel and walking away from him.

She felt strangely hollow when she realized he wasn't following her.


	18. The Violence in Your Eyes

**Pale Blue Shadows**

Author's Notes:

Continuing dark alert.

Extreme apologies for how long it has taken me to update. Life happened… and I guess that's all I can say about that. :P

_Chapter 18: The Violence in Your Eyes_

The hotel clerk stared at her in obvious terror. The idiotic expression on his face as one hand hovered over an aged telephone and the other fumbled with the pen he'd been holding inspired Roxanne to greater heights of rage. She shot the young man a deadly gaze, "Don't." She raised a finger warningly, "Just don't."

The cheap hotel had faded red wallpaper which curled in the corners behind the clerk's head. His brown hair had obviously been painstakingly brushed, which only revealed how young he was to take a job at a hotel like this so seriously. The young man's hand lifted from the phone, even as his arms rose in shaking surrender. "Puh-please… Miss Ritchie… I-I-I… I'll do wuh-whatever you want. Just puh-please don't…"

"You'll be just fine so long as you give me a room key, a bottle of vodka, a pair of scissors, some hair dye, and don't call the police. Ok?" Roxanne cut the young man off. She was in no mood to deal with idiots. Not after the smartest man she'd ever known had turned out to be such an incredible moron. A lying moron, no less. He'd tried to deny knowing the woman. And he knew that she knew that he never forgot anything. It was just… disturbing. After all, if he could lie about that…

Roxanne's brain was working in a frantic parody of fast forward. Ugly possibilities presented themselves to her in rapid succession. Syx was not who she had thought he was. There was absolutely no way she could trust him. He'd just proven he could lie. And she knew he was evil. She knew this!

The clerk handed over a simple bronze key that dangled from a beat-up plastic plaque with a faded number 4 written on it. His hand shook so badly that the key managed to jingle, despite having nothing but the key ring itself to crash against. Roxanne grit her teeth as she stared up the shadowed stairwell. It was just as well she had begun to make a name for herself as a villain. This sort of place was not one she would have even dared to enter in her previous life. But now everyone believed she was evil. Was she evil? She didn't really feel evil, throwing a fit about her boyfriend… boyfriend? Was that what Syx even was?

The climb up the flight of stairs to her second floor room passed in a blur. The key grated into the lock of the room. After a frustrated wiggling of the lock and some heavy leaning on the door, it finally sprung open.

Syx could have planned everything.

Minion had said that he'd fixated on her a long time ago. He could have planned everything. It could all be a set up to ensnare her in some way. To… Roxanne's brain slowed to a grinding halt. To what exactly? To make her his? How was that actually horrible in any possible way? When had she been unhappy with him since the day he'd pulled her out of her apartment, laughing at the dumbstruck police who'd been intending to take her away? A sob wracked her frame as she collapsed backward against the door. The tears that had been threatening finally flooded her eyes.

He hadn't followed her.

Thirty minutes later, Roxanne stood in the bathroom with her jaw clenched. Black hair dye threatened to stain her fingertips as she massaged the colour into her roots. Black was how she felt. Black with vindictive spite and fury. How dare he not follow her? He was the one who had screwed up then tried to lie about it. He was the one at fault here. He was the one messing everything up. Roxanne rinsed the excess colour from her hands, watching the swirl of blackness funnel down the drain. She breathed deeply, pulling the towel wrapped around her shoulders tighter to protect her skin from staining as the dye set. The faded white towel was becoming increasingly streaked with black, but Roxanne found she simply didn't care. She was a bad guy now, who cared if she wrecked a towel? The hotel clerk had passed her the bag with the things she'd requested in the same trembling terror he'd greeted her with downstairs. It gave a her a strange sense of power.

An hour after arriving at the cheap hotel, Roxanne was showering. Black currents ran down her body, coalescing at the drain and disappearing. She felt like she was metamorphosing into some strange night creature. A vague plan had formulated itself in her mind. Not so much a plan for revenge as a plan for oblivion. Tonight, she had had just about enough of thinking, living, being Roxanne Ritchie. She was ready to find some new way of being. And if that wasn't possible, then she'd just stop thinking.

She drank the vodka in straight shots as she attacked her hair with vigour. Her rage was channeled toward creating something different. She'd maintained the same general cut for years. It was a trademark thing. Now she needed something new. Something different. Something exciting. She gave the scissors one last snicker-snack, and gazed into the mirror in a groggily contented way. She pulled the black leather of her suit over her skin, lovingly patting the De-gun as she strapped it to her thigh. Yes, she'd stolen it from him. No, she didn't feel bad about it. No, she wasn't thinking about whether he had missed it yet. She wasn't thinking about him at all.

No, no, she was not. Not even a little bit. In fact, she didn't even care what he would think of her new hair. She didn't care at all.

She already had one hand on the doorknob of the room was she paused with a start. She needed a name. Every good villain had a name. She didn't _want_ to be Roxanne Ritchie anymore. But she had to be someone. Roxanne lifted the half-empty bottle of vodka to eye level and regarded it for a moment in silent contemplation. She took a swig straight from the bottle, wincing as it went down, but enjoying the burn. It was almost a symbolic thing. A sacrifice of the old Roxanne to create the new… someone. Roxanne stared at the bottle again. "I need a name," she told it, her voice only lightly slurred. She cocked her head to the right suddenly, "Yeah," she said, still addressing the bottle, "That's a good name." She tipped the bottle up for another swig, exiting the room with a smoothness that belied her intoxication. "I just wish," she muttered as she strode down the hallway, "That he hadn't called me that first."

* * *

><p>The club was still in this seedier side of town. It was one Roxanne had never been to, though that didn't really say much. The building was painted a whorish shade of red. Jagged black lettering above the doorway proclaimed it to be "The Pheonix," making it as good a place as any for her to burn what was left of her old identity away. Thin-waisted and large-busted girls competed for ground in the line-up, clinging to their tight-lipped "friends" or boyfriends. A few guys stood in line, eyeing the scantily clad women in front of them with a sincere lack of tact. Two black-clad bouncers stood at the front of the line, just in front of the door, expressions of boredom written across their faces.<p>

At least, they were expressions of boredom until they caught sight of the vixen clad in black leather pointing a familiar looking weapon at their heads. "Hey boys," Roxanne purred, running one hand carelessly through the jagged black pixie cut she now sported. The off-the-shoulder top of her villain costume slide further down her right shoulder. She smirked at the crowd, who stared at her in drunken awe, "Gonna let me in?" she asked the bouncers coyly, "I promise I'll be more fun if you let me inside than if you keep me waiting."

She watched the two bouncers turn their heads slightly to share a glance. "Are you serious?" the larger of the two exclaimed, spreading his arms out to the side slightly like a gangster fronting in a bad movie. "You gonna come up in here waving a toy at me…"

Roxanne pulled the trigger, yawning delicately as the large man was reduced to a tiny, glowing blue cube. "I hate people who think they're tougher than I am," she told the crowd, drinking in their expressions of intoxicated delight. Their silent appreciation bolstered her ego, pushing her closer to the remaining bouncer who stared from her to his partner to the gun.

"You…" he glanced up and down the street, "Where's the alien?"

Roxanne shrugged carelessly, one finger sliding provocatively up and down the trigger of the gun. "How do I know? And why should I care? I thought I was the brains behind all the stunts?" She threw the bouncer a falsely questioning look. He shrunk into himself.

"I… uh… thought that was just…"

"Too long!" Roxanne cried, getting bored of the man stuttering and his presence blocking her from accessing more of the blissfully mind-numbing substance that was alcohol. She pulled the trigger. There was a long moment of silence as the people in the line-up glanced at each other. Roxanne ignored them as she walked forward. She paused, one hand on the door. "What are all of you waiting for?" she addressed them, "Didn't you all come to party too?"

A raucous cheer rang out from the crowd as they rushed forward, buoying their erstwhile hero of the eve into the club and toward the bar, where, of course, everyone got free drinks.

The DJ kept playing and the drinks kept flowing, all on the house, thanks to Roxanne's careless aiming of the De-gun. She presently sat poised like the queen she was; perched atop a bar stool and supplied with a bottomless martini of some sort. She didn't really care. She had all the power right now, and the majority of the people in the club were her subjects for the night. So long as the music didn't stop and the club didn't run out of free booze, they'd do whatever she wished and look at her in worshipful awe.

The music beat through her bones. One young man dared to approach her, his eyes filled with drunk confidence. "So what do we call you now?" he said suddenly, pausing only a few inches from Roxanne's primly crossed legs. "I mean, you sure don't look like a reporter anymore."

Roxanne smiled devilishly. "Just call me Temptress," she replied, the words slipping from her tongue like honey. The man looked to be in his mid-twenties, and he was definitely good looking. Muscles moved almost alarmingly under his rolled-up shirt sleeves. Roxanne licked her lips. "And what do I call you?"

The man's lips curled into a grin, "Anything you want, babe." He moved closer, one heavy hand slipping its way along her outer thigh. "Can I get you another drink?"

Roxanne's lips curled into a wicked smirk. "Think I got that covered, hot stuff," she gestured to the terror-stricken bartender who's eyes seemed glued to the level of liquid in her glass, "But you can definitely keep me company." She paused, letting her teeth drag across her lower lip, "You aren't afraid?" she murmured, the man close enough to catch her words despite the pounding music.

"Should I be?" he replied. "You look like you know what you want. Don't think anyone or anything could get in your way." He grinned a little wider, "And I promise you won't want to be using that gun on me when I'm done making you feel good."

Roxanne felt her lips twitch in amusement. She lifted one black-gloved hand to trace the man's pectoral muscles as they flexed lightly under his dress shirt. With a sudden movement, she pushed the man backwards with a force she didn't know she had, sending him flying backwards into a table. A crash of glass accompanied her dark laughter. "Really?" she spat with amusement, as twenty or thirty eyes fell on her and the little scene she'd caused, "That's the best you've got?"

It really wasn't long before the next hotshot wanted to try his luck. Though Roxanne would be damned if she knew why. They just lined up for punishment and humiliation. It was… ridiculously funny and sad and the thrill of power was just purely intoxicating. It was almost enough to make her forget about the earlier portion of her evening.

Almost.


	19. Blood, Sex, and Booze

**Pale Blue Shadows**

Author's Notes:

Continuing dark alert.

Also, I forewarn that there is definitely a misogynistic tone to this chapter. Don't like, don't read. That said, you know that with me writing, Roxie will get hers back eventually. It's really only kinky foreplay.

_Chapter 19: Blood, Sex, and Booze_

The DJ was getting tired. By this time, the club would normally have been closed for nearly two hours. With Roxanne in charge, however, the hours were a little more… flexible. Roxanne chose to ignore the DJ's increasingly poor performance, which was easy when the room spun even when you didn't move. There were thoroughly masculine hands around her waist, and she knew she had somehow made it to the dance floor at some point. The music throbbed through her veins and the unknown man's hands tightened around her body, pulling her closer and spinning her around. Dark eyes regarded her, and Roxanne let her eyes slide closed, choosing to ignore the momentary jolt of longing for green eyes. She shoved it aside, letting the music move her body against the well-built man. Thoroughly human, thoroughly strong, and probably wonderfully attractive. Her body reacted mostly the way it should. Which was enough for the moment.

She felt the man's hands slip lower, their strength apparent as they gripped her hips and pulled her closer. No thoughts. She merely moved, free from her mind for the moment and wanting the oblivion of her intoxicated state to keep her mind at bay for a little longer. Before she would have to deal with the confusing truths that threatened on the horizon. The hands slid downward, running over her buttocks and dipping rather awkwardly low. Roxanne twitched, almost subconsciously retreating from his actions, but left with nowhere to go in the tight-press of his body and his arms.

The sickening crunch came just a second before the jarring howl of pain in Roxanne's ear. The DJ's music came to a screeching halt and the moving crowd seemed to freeze and pull away. "What the fuck!" the man cried, releasing Roxanne as he cradled his right hand inwards. In the same instant, Roxanne found herself pulled backwards, an almost painful pressure around her wrist. With a dizzying spin, she found herself staring into violently green eyes. There was a snarl on his lips as he pulled her closer, claiming her own.

He held her captured wrist above their heads as he used his free arm to capture her body towards his. Roxanne felt breathless, as the pressure around her wrist intensified, the angle he held her arm at bordering on painful. She gasped as he roughly pulled his mouth from hers. The gun was now in his leather-clad hands, and though Roxanne couldn't see it, she knew it was directed at the still swearing man behind her.

A hushed murmur was running through the now motionless crowd. Every pair of eyes was on her now, and no longer with drunken awe or worship. Now they stared at her in wide-eyed confusion and uncertainty. Mouths hung agape and a restless flutter to the left caught the corner of her eye. She felt the steely grasp on her body shift slightly as the gun and the hand holding it were brought to bear on the sudden movement. "Don't. Move." He said, his tone freezing whoever had attempted to intervene.

No one had ever heard him use such tones. No one had ever seen him actually look dangerous. Oh, they said he was, and of course, they stayed out of the way of the fights, but they were never truly afraid of their city's supervillain. He would, after all, inevitably be stopped by MetroMan. Except that it was currently 4 in the morning, in the middle of one of Metro City's least reputable clubs. And whatever that reporter had been trying to prove tonight had very suddenly evaporated.

Roxanne squirmed, the pressure in her arm and wrist actually becoming painful. His gaze turned to her, and Roxanne suddenly realized exactly the situation she was in. He ratcheted her arm into an even less comfortable angle. "Syx?" she whimpered softly, her body twisting despite itself, bending inwards to him until her body felt just slightly bent backwards. He seemed to loom over her. His entire body was almost unrecognizable. Anything soft or silly about a large blue head had somehow been displaced. His face was etched into hard, harsh lines. That well-known 67 degree angled jaw line looked somehow sharper. His thin limbs and body suddenly seemed to be made of steel, absolutely unbending. His will was manifested as unwavering. Roxanne felt a shiver run down her spine. She didn't know this side at all, but she recognized it. This was exactly what Minion had tried to tell her about. The danger inherent in pursuing a relationship with a fiercely obsessive and entirely different being.

His eyes seemed strangely unfocussed, as if he was not entirely present in this reality. The crowd shrunk backwards. Roxanne felt abandoned by her fellow humans. She trembled as the realization struck that she had made this choice. Everything that had led her here had been by her own doing. The steely grip around her wrist, the arm wrapped around her waist that held her chained, the violently green eyes that even unfocussed seemed to pierce into her very being with their accusations and threats… she had chosen them. Roxanne took a wavering breath and licked her lips nervously. She closed the awkwardly angled distance between them and kissed his lips ever so lightly.

He growled, the vibrations of it echoing through her body as he pulled her even closer, letting her arm fall, if only so he could tangle that hand into her shortened hair. He forced her mouth closer to his, his mouth battering her own into an almost pained submission. Roxanne felt herself gasp under the onslaught. "Mine," he growled, glaring into her eyes. He looked nearly feral and Roxanne felt desire suddenly blossom from the terror in her heart. Her body was fused to his, only leather and the bodysuits separating them. She shivered again, the single word pulled from somewhere deep within her without conscious thought. "Yours," she whispered hoarsely, as if there were an option. His teeth were almost unbearably sharp as his mouth violently claimed hers again. There was pain. In her constrained body, in his hold of her, in the blood he was drawing from her bruised lips.

Roxanne wondered if she had ever been so turned on in her entire life.

She never knew exactly how they got from the club to the car, only that he had waited to take her until they were out of sight. Dimly, Roxanne had been terrified that he would claim her completely right there in that crowd of people. Only dimly, however. Most of her had completely shut down, lost in the lust that swam through her body. She wanted him desperately. He had just humiliated her terribly, had hurt her, was still hurting her in as much as there would be bruises and the taste of blood was in her mouth, and all she could think was that she needed him _now_. Maybe it was some sort of transfer, since he seemed entirely out of any sort of control. More animal or demon than intelligent being. There was only his need for her, his need to have her, own her, keep her to himself. There was a moment of sheer clarity in which Roxanne had stared up at the roof of the car, textures clearer and sharper than she'd ever seen them, in which she had wondered if this really was how it was for his people. For his species. Was this violence normal, or was it a product of their own fucked up situation? Was being a bad guy eating away at them? Was this what was left? She had turned her gaze back to his green, green eyes as another wave of desire swamped her. And then, such questions really didn't matter.

They didn't make love. There was no patience in this, no understanding. Only the rush, rush, rush of primal need and desire. There was no room for thought. No room for anything but that desperate need to bind themselves together. Time was lost and when Roxanne swam back to consciousness, there was sunlight in the car. Syx was curled up around her, asleep or unconsciousness still. Roxanne breathed lightly, every part of her body aching. Her wrists were sore, her body was sore, her brain was sore. She closed her eyes, trying to make sense of everything. She licked her lips, wincing at how raw they were.

She reopened her eyes slowly, gazing at Syx in a confused daze. Part of her felt like she should run and run now. Every part of her brain that knew anything about healthy relationships was screaming that _this__ was __not__ healthy_. This was not normal. Everything may have been just fine, but last night had proven that this was all just a very _bad__ idea._Just the humiliation he had put her through would be enough to dump any other guy she'd ever dated. The pain, the… whatever this had been… was just entirely unnatural.

Roxanne's eyes suddenly actually saw Syx. His breathing was level, but his lips were as raw looking as hers felt. Glaring red streaks ran down and across his back. He looked as if he had been mauled by a tiger. Roxanne twitched and sat up, shifting him entirely ungraciously. She stared at her fingernails. Just beneath the tips of her nails was a brownish-red substance. She looked numbly from her fingernails to Syx's back. Whatever damage he had done to her aching body, she had done just as much to his. A feeling of regret and fear ran down her spine.

Syx shifted, woken no doubt by her own movements. His eyes opened slowly, as if awareness was returning slowly. Roxanne felt frozen. Every cell in her body screamed at her to run in shame and horror and fear. How could she even look at him, knowing what they had done to each other?

He moved slowly, pulling himself up without looking at her, confusion in his features as he stared uncomprehendingly at the car seat. He looked up at her, his green eyes curious and confused. Gazes locked and for a moment, Roxanne felt nothing at all. Then she saw realization fall across his eyes. And that was when his gaze fell and began a serious, intent study of everything but her. She watched his neck twitch and his jaw work in silence. It was a long time before his eyes came back to hers, and then the anguished, terrified confusion in them mirrored her own gaze.


	20. Fallout

**Pale Blue Shadows**

Author's Notes:

You know what? It's just going to be dark from here on out. It's a darkfic. :P

_Chapter 20: Fallout_

They drove back in silence. In the end, Roxanne didn't even move from the backseat. She sat scrunched in a ball, staring out the window. She wouldn't make eye contact with him right now. Not again. A part of her knew this was making it worse for him. She could feel his presence getting smaller, shrinking in the front seat even as he drove. There was no doubt in her now that whatever had happened last night hadn't really been under his control. Whether that made it forgivable was up in the air. What had her refusing to budge from a crumbled ball in the back seat was her own confused guilt. There was no doubt in her mind that she had enjoyed the previous night on some terribly base level and it was that fact which was eating her alive.

He parked the car inside the hideout and half-turned towards her. Even without seeing, she knew that his eyes would reflect the same luminous, terrified, heartbroken look they had earlier. His jaw would work silently. She heard him leave the car. For a long moment, Roxanne continued to sit in silence. A strangled breath wrestled its way past the lump in her throat. She didn't cry. She felt too hollow to make tears.

At some point, she did wander back to the bedroom. Everything was silent and deserted. No Minion, no Syx, no Bots. And she was grateful for it. The walk down the hallway was one of the longest she had ever taken. Everything ached, but not nearly as much as her heart. She pushed the bedroom door open slowly, knowing somehow that Syx wouldn't be there, but hesitant to be there nonetheless. This room, that bed; everything that had transpired seemed somehow eclipsed by last night. The violence, the rage, the fire, the lust. It was too all-consuming, too terrible. How could she call something like that love? It defied all logic, all social norm, all sense of decency and rightness.

Then again, Roxanne found herself thinking, she had turned her back on all those things. Perhaps this terrible, dirty evolution of herself was inevitable. Perhaps it was just a part of this. After all, it had all been her choice. She had started a relationship with a supervillain. Had chosen to be a villain herself. She had decided to turn her back on humanity and its lies. Didn't that make everything normal and wholesome a part of that lie? Or had she thought that everything normal and wholesome wasn't wholesome at all, and that she'd found her own little wholesome world that was superior to the real one?

Roxanne hung her head. She didn't know what to think. "Bowg?" she heard Forty-Two ask. "Bowg bowg?"

Roxanne made no attempt to reply. She merely slunk towards the bathroom, dropping the blanket and ball of clothing she had been clutching to herself since she had woken up this morning in the backseat of the car.

"Bowg!" Thirty-six's exclamation came from behind her. Roxanne sighed, but refused to turn around. She continued into the bathroom, where she realized that she would have to confront herself.

Her reflection was nearly unrecognizable. Her now short-cropped and black hair looked even wilder than it had last night, a mass of jagged spikes. Dark circles of smudged makeup surrounded her eyes, which looked reddened. Her lips were chewed and chapped. A series of wickedly purple bruises ran along the arch of her shoulder and up the side of her neck. Several more scattered her breasts and down the side of her left hip. Her throat dry, Roxanne turned slightly. The reflection revealed the damage to her own back. Claw-like scratches ran down the line of her spine.

"Bowg. Bowg bowg!" Thirty-six demanded, floating up beside her and gesturing wildly at the damage her body had sustained.

Roxanne kept her gaze level at her reflection, though she addressed the bot. "You should see his back," she said simply, the words catching in her throat. "I did just as much damage to him." She paused, weighing her actions (and overreactions) of the previous night. She licked her lips anxiously, "More," she whispered finally. "I did more."

Roxanne anticipated that Thirty-six would react poorly. No matter what had transpired the past few weeks, the bot was determinedly faithful to his master. So she was unprepared when Thirty-six ran a tentative tentacle through her shortened hair. It huffed disapprovingly as it lingered over the bruises on her neck and the scratches on her back. It withdrew the tentacles and began to mutter in its own way. It turned to glare at Forty-Two. "Bowg!" it exclaimed, sending Forty-two into a fit of action, as water taps were turned on, towels were selected, and harsh scrubbing sponges were set aside in place of soft washcloths. Roxanne stared at the scene blankly. "Bowg!" Thirty-six demanded, several tentacles pushing her gently into the bathtub. The bot settled down onto the counter, a towel bunched up beneath it, and watched with a hooded eye.

Several hours later, Roxanne sat cross-legged on the bed wrapped in only a terry cloth robe. She sat before Thirty-six's holographic display with a strange look on her face. Her nerves were still rattled and frayed, and she could apparently re-add chewing her fingernails to her list of vices, but some small sense of acceptance was re-establishing itself within her.

He appeared in her doorway looking as confused as he had that morning in the car. Confused and ashamed, really. With his head slightly bowed, and his whole body radiating defeat… or perhaps pain. Faster healing wouldn't fix anything that last night had done to his head. "Roxanne," he said softly, his voice a hoarse whisper that broke before he even got to the end of her name.

Roxanne looked at him with something approaching blankness. She needed to talk to him. She needed to tell him too many things that she wasn't certain she could even vocalize or put into words, but at the same time she was terribly unready for him to be here with her now. She swallowed hard, fighting against the myriad emotions that were already swimming to the surface. Too many emotions in harsh conflict with each other. Too many thoughts and competing versions of reality battled for space in her brain.

He took a few steps forward, towards her. His jaw was working in that silent way she had grown to love, when he didn't know what exactly to say, or how to say it. A deep ache rose inside of her breast. She loved him. She loved him with an intensity that terrified her. Nothing she had ever felt could rival this feeling and the very primal fierceness of its nature. This feeling bit and scratched and slashed in her breast, it raged against the unfairness of a only having one single, unpredictable lifetime to spend with him. It tore away at her being and made her want to weep for fear of losing him. It wanted to pull him close and kiss away his fears and make love to him and at the same time mark him as her own and feel nothing but the two of them together. It was a feeling that marched steadily onward against everything she had ever been taught about what love should be like. This love was violent. This love could be cruel. This love bordered on abusive. It was obsessive. It was everything women were warned against, for fear of ending up with some sort of psychopath or sadist who would leave them nothing but a wreck of themselves. The sort of person who would ruin lives and drive their lover to despair and debasement and force them to be alienated from the world and from society. It was the type of love that cut you off from humanity and reality and would drive you to your own destruction.

"Roxanne," he began again, his eyes now steadily on the floor. "I am so, so, so unbelievably sorry…" he began.

It was then that Roxanne moved. She slithered to her knees and pulled herself forward through the hologram and across the bed. She balanced her body on the edge of the bed and with her fingertips reached for him. Chewed-down nails caught the fabric of the bodysuit he wore and pulled him close. "Don't," she hissed roughly, "Don't apologize."

His confused eyes met her own and gazed deeply into her. Roxanne knew, in every cell of her body, that the love she was feeling, that terrible, raw monster of a creature, was the same that he felt. That this wonderful, horrible feeling was capable of exactly the sort of things that made up last night, just as easily as it could produce the warm, loving weeks that preceded it.

Roxanne licked her lips nervously, finally understanding what Minion had meant about Syx's obsessive love. Understanding because it was consuming her as well. _He _had to be _hers_ – and no one elses. If he left, well, it might kill her, except that she knew, right now, in this moment, that she'd never let him leave. Whatever had transpired last night had unleashed something she couldn't explain.

She finally opened her mouth, staring directly into Syx's darkening eyes, "I feel it too."

The look of anguish and thrill that blossomed in his eyes terrified her and excited her. "Thank god," he murmured darkly, his lips already on her own, "Because I can't explain it." He kissed her deeply, breaking away to stare her straight in the eye. "I can't… I can't explain what I did, how I acted. It was like I wasn't really there, but at the same time…"

"I didn't want to stop," Roxanne whispered, finishing his thought. "Have you seen your back? Whatever you did to me, I gave as good as I got and I…"

"Liked it." He pulled her closer to him, deepening their kiss. There was no point questioning this. There was only this acceptance that this was simply how things were. Acceptance and a brilliantly blinding sense of thankful joy that this feeling – this awful, horrible, heart-wrenching, purely addictive feeling – was not one-sided. It might destroy them, but at least it would destroy them together.


	21. Interlude

**Pale Blue Shadows**

_Dear Readers,_

_I PROMISE this story has not been forgotten… I'm currently finishing up my last year of teacher's college, which means I'm on practicum. With grade sevens… who are surprisingly tough to teach. They keep me hopping and it seems to be requiring pretty much all my energy. Mid-April, I will once again be free to follow my muse, so you can expect another cluster of rapid-fire updates then. Until then, just in case I don't get anything out between now and then (which I will be so very sorry for), here's a little tidbit to keep you thinking._

_I'm so sorry for leaving you all hanging!_

_Thank you all for still reading!_

_- Dreamflight_

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 21: Interlude<em>

Dear Diary,

I am most concerned about Sir and Miss Ritchie. As I feared, Sir seems to have permanently fixated on Miss Ritchie. What I had not foreseen, was Miss Ritchie doing the same to Sir. I didn't actually think it was possible for a human to reciprocate the feelings that Sir's people were capable of, yet here it is… for better or worse. I fear worse…

Sir has turned an entirely new page on his inventions. He has always been so careful, up until now, to make sure that none of his inventions was too far out of the realm of human imagination. Suddenly, everything has changed. He has re-opened the gene lab, against my warnings. I've told him time and again that there may be dangers in gene splicing, but he seems to have decided not to heed them. I believe he is working on an ointment that grants his own natural fast-healing ability to whatever organic material it is applied to. I would rather pretend I did not know the direct application of this ointment, but it would take someone deaf, blind, and dumb not to realize that it has to do with Miss Ritchie.

And on the topic of Miss Ritchie… well, there is simply too much to say and no proper way to say it. She has changed, of that I have no doubt. As I write, she is holed up in one of the labs tinkering with several settings on the De-Gun. Miss Ritchie. Tinkering with the De-Gun! It's beyond anything I might have dreamed. One look at Sir confirms that it is exactly what he has dreamed. The woman he has thought of incessantly inventing and discovering and doing science… and using his own weapon.

Sometimes its unbearable to be here.

Sometimes I can see the love radiate from them so brightly that I want to do nothing but smile and splash and laugh like I did when I was just a guppy.

They revolve through the entire spectrum of love, obsession, desire, need, lust, and darker things I have no name for. I'd known some fraction of it from home but… Sir and Miss Ritchie seem to go beyond all my recollections.

… then again, I never did know why Sir's planet was destroyed.


	22. Crash

**Pale Blue Shadows**

****A quick shout-out to Karen B. Jones, who may not know it yet, but helped me decide that yes, this chapter is in fact the twist I want this story to take.

Hugs and cookies for everyone for putting up with the truly painful slowness of my updates.

_Chapter 22: Crash _

The plan was perfect. Blindingly brilliant and well-rounded. There was no possible escape from it. It was designed, from top to bottom, to eradicate Metro Man from the face of the Earth.

The day had started perfectly. A clear, blue sky vaulted over the city of Metropolis. Its citizens had blindly followed their normal routines, retracing well worn paths and routes through the city, like ants or automatons.

Which was why Roxanne could not figure out why she was standing alone in the pouring rain, surrounded by broken glass, hearing only the sound of her heart shattering in her chest as the love of her life was handcuffed.

* * *

><p><em>05:00<em>

"This is it," Syx's voice echoed in the darkness of the room. Normally, Roxanne would have complained at the sudden disruption to her sleep. It was barely even 5 a.m. Even the brainbots were nesting quite peacefully, red eyes fluttering open at their Master's sudden exclamation. But the excitement in his voice was palpable, and there was no mistaking the oddness of him sitting bolt upright from sleep.

"Today's the day?" Roxanne managed to ask blearily from her pillow. Hoping she sounded excited rather than annoyed by the sudden leap from sleep to wakefulness. She was getting used to Syx's bizarre shifts (truth to be told, she was absorbing some of them herself), but she still found herself needing a few minutes to catch up with him at times.

"This is the one!" He confirmed brightly, leaping from the bed. "This is the day we end Metro Man!" Roxanne rolled over with a groan as the man she loved cried, "Fist pump!"

* * *

><p><em>07:00<em>

"Sir, are you absolutely certain that today is the right day for this?" Minion's voice held a healthy amount of trepidation. He looked worried, more so than usual, though Roxanne had begun getting used to that lately. Ever since Megamind had invented that healing balm, Minion had been more antsy than usual. Something about genetic engineering had him shaken, though Roxanne could hardly understand why. It wasn't as if it was really that difficult, and Syx always took such intense precautions…

Roxanne shook her head, focusing again on the discussion at hand. Syx was in one of his hyper moods today, all light and humour and perception-bending silliness. He was gearing up for a public appearance, Roxanne could tell that now. She was and would be eternally grateful that she had gone past that stage with him. That he had let her in and let her know the real him, in all his intensity and brilliance.

It would be terribly nice to finally have the world see that. Though Roxanne already knew that it would mean him having to drop a large part of his act. If he wanted to be taken seriously, the world would have to learn how to actually respect him, and if they couldn't manage that, well, then they would just have to fear him instead.

* * *

><p><em>09:00<em>

"Spider bots prepared?" Minion's voice cried out to her.

"Check!" Roxanne replied, tilting back her safety goggles as she shut the control box on Spider Delta. She gave the Bot a heavy pat. "You keep the other three in line, you hear?" she told it lovingly. "We'll be counting on your distraction time. And you don't have to be scared, okay? I reinforced your exoskeleton and used the extra-springy stuff in your joints. You won't get banged up too bad when that nasty Metro Man tries to hit you."

"You're getting as bad as he is," Minion chuckled, his gorilla suit leaning carelessly against a metal rail.

Roxanne blinked her eyes innocently, "They _do_ have feelings, Minion, and _he _knows it. Even if he won't admit that self-programming programs can do what he couldn't foresee."

"Just remember who programmed them in the first place," a dark voice whispered into her ear, honeyed tones melting her insides. Megamind wrapped a bare hand around one of her wrists and spun her towards him.

Roxanne giggled despite herself. "You're going to get yourself covered in oil and grease!" she protested, gesturing weakly at her oil-splotched coveralls and the axle grease on her hands.

"Then I suppose we will have to have a shower," he replied smoothly, his eyebrows raising easily as he made the suggestion. Roxanne relaxed into his arms, pulling him down into a kiss that really, truly did make her knees weak.

* * *

><p><em>10:00<em>

"Again?" she whispered, as he deposited her onto their bed.

"Why not?" he purred into her as he leaned in to her naked body.

They were still mostly wet. He'd had his way with her once already in the bathroom, and here he was in no hurry at all to get dressed. In fact, ready to get her all sweaty and hot and needing another shower…

"I can't think of a reason," she breathed, wrapping her hands around his shoulders and pulling him down towards her. She pressed her lips against his softly. He pressed back with a more demanding pressure. Roxanne pulled her head back into her pillow, staring up at him with wonder and love. "I love you," she said quietly, her voice breaking with the emotion behind it.

His lips curved into a smirk, his green eyes bright as he leaned down towards her. "I know," he murmured, "And you will never know just how much I love you back."

"Why don't you show me?" she challenged him, her voice betraying the challenge with its gentle tone. She lifted her body into his, feeling her curves hit his long, lean lines. It was enough, that feeling of their bare skin touching all down the length of their bodies to fan the flames of their passion back into searing heat.

One of his hands slipped down the length of her body, tracing the gentle curve of her hip. He ghosted his fingertips across the taunt line of her stomach, tickling the sensitive nerves of her lower body as he quested, painfully slowly, towards his target. Roxanne squeaked softly as he lowered his mouth to her breast, his eyes never leaving her own as he watched her reactions.

Capturing a nipple between his almost painfully sharp teeth, he teased her, as his fingers danced across her more sensitive areas, never lingering long enough to provide any solid sensation. "Please, love," she gasped, her head rolling backwards as she arched her body into his.

"Is this what you want?" he whispered into her ear, his wicked tongue lingering over the words as he ran a single digit across the wetness of her sex.

"Puh-please," she panted, her body jumping as he ran that finger up and down her clit.

"Again?" he murmured, his wicked tongue licking across the shell of her ear.

Roxanne moaned, his playful retort only frustrating her more, just as he planned. He knew it all, she thought, even as she took advantage of his precarious position above her and flipped him between her legs. "Again," she replied firmly.

* * *

><p><em>11:00<em>

"You want to use a location we haven't prescreened?"

Roxanne's voice rent the air of the otherwise quiet bedroom.

* * *

><p><em>12:00<em>

"I still don't understand why we don't just use Location Six-Five-Two," Roxanne hissed as she and Syx entered the restaurant, disguised as always.

"Because this one is better," Syx replied, his almost child-like smile bleeding through the appearance of the disguise.

"Yes," Roxanne agreed drily, "This one, that we have not screened, is far better than any of the dozen locations that we already approved as well-suited to our plan." She rolled her eyes, "This is crazy, you know! The plan is set to start in under four hours and we're getting lunch!"

Syx just nodded leisurely as he greeted the hostess, signaling a table for two. "Somewhere private," he requested with a wink.

Roxanne was on the verge of stamping her feet in childish rage. They had a ridiculously complex plan to unveil in four hours and here he was reveling in the good-looks of his assumed appearance so he could flirt with the hostess not even an hour after climbing out of bed with her, his supposed soul mate.

"Patience, my love," he whispered to her, taking her hand in his own. "Don't be angry right now." Roxanne felt her emotions soothed, partly against her will.

"You said you weren't going to do that again until we had run more tests," she said quietly. They didn't talk much about the strange, growing influences they had on each other. The information they could seemingly pluck from each other's mind. The feelings they could sense. The feelings they could willingly share. The fact that she had rewired three brainbots before realizing that there should have been _absolutely no way _for her to know how to do such a thing without him telling her about his funny little safety catches and unique way of wiring. Her hands had worked like clockwork, channeling his knowledge without even knowing that she had done so.

It should have been terrifying.

"But you don't really mind," he replied fluidly, guiding her into her seat.

"No," she agreed. It went both ways, after all. She'd spent an entire dinner hour sweetly torturing him in such a manner once. Only fair, she had told him, when he finally cracked and dragged her to the bedroom, his lust escalated to blindingly fantastic heights. He had tried to calm her down during an argument earlier. She figured that her use was more nefarious, if ultimately more satisfying.

"I have other reasons," he admitted finally, his smile almost unnecessarily wide.

Roxanne lifted an eyebrow. "Oh?" she pressed.

"I'm sad you don't remember it," he began, "This is the restaurant I first kidnapped you from."

Roxanne scrunched her forehead, looking around her in confusion. A wave of memory (his or her own, she never knew anymore) swept over her. She had been doing a report on food safety. Café Chianti had received a gold star record for ten years running, and she had still been fairly new to the staff. It was only after the kidnapping that she had gotten the interview with Metro Man that had boosted her to success and fame.

She looked at Syx with a crooked gaze. "You chose me first, didn't you?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer. "Was I only supposed to be the first one you kidnapped or was the plan always to get Metro Man to give me that interview? To make me the only one worth kidnapping?"

Syx smiled crookedly, his fingers pressed against each other in typical bad guy fashion. "Stick with me choosing you first," he replied, his eyes promising that one day she would know the full answer. Then his eyes went dark, and his face serious. "If something goes wrong today," he began.

"No." Roxanne hushed him. "There is no going wrong today…"

"If," he interrupted her, his brow wrinkling as if the thought needed to be dealt with, "If it does, I want to know the answer to something first." He looked at her carefully, measuring her attention, "And if it goes right, then this would just be the frosting on the cupcake."

"The icing on the cake," she corrected softly, the barest smile on her lips.

"Roxanne," he said, very seriously, "Would you marry me?"

Roxanne felt her heart stop beating for a moment. She swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. "Syx…" she said softly, "I hadn't even dreamed…" She felt the smile on her lips break into something beautiful.

As if in trance, she watched him stand, only to kneel by the side of her seat. "Marry me, Roxanne," he said again, taking her hand, slipping a small band around her finger.

"Of course," she whispered, leaning into him and kissing him deeply. He grabbed her wrist, pulling her deeper. A few catcalls began from a table nearby that seemed to notice the interaction between the pretty blonde twenty-something and her handsome, dark-haired suitor.

Roxanne pulled away, wishing that she could see him without the disguise, in this particular moment. "Come on," she whispered, pulling him up beside her and glancing around mischievously, ignoring the looks the catcalling customers were now giving them. She dragged him back through the restaurant to an exit door.

"Roxanne?" he asked, softly uncertain.

She smiled at him. "I really need to kiss _you_ right now, not a mask of someone else."

He smiled back at her, pulling her through the door and into the quiet alleyway. Shadowed from the sky above and the street beyond by dumpsters that did nothing to quell the mood for Roxanne, she pulled him close and twisted the watch dials. She kissed him properly, in the shadows of the alleyway. Her crazy, brilliant, alien fiancée.

A large drop of rain fell on her head, making her laugh as she pulled away from Syx. "Now its raining," she shook her head. Leaning in, she pressed her forehead against Syx's oversized one. "Maybe we should just go home," she said quietly, "call it a day and go back to bed."

She felt him press a kiss against her forehead, twisting their dials back. "Maybe we should," he replied quietly.

She let him lead her from the alleyway, holding his hand even though their disguises botched the experience somewhat. They paused in front of the restaurant, debating internally if they should go back in or if they should just abandon the meal they never even ordered.

Which was, of course, when it all fell apart.

"Put your hands up," the arrogant, unpleasant voice behind them announced, "Surrender peacefully."

"Under what charge?" Syx asked quietly, his voice downright dangerous.

"Megamind," the voice announced again, "You can drop the disguise. I've been monitoring you and Miss Ritchie for the last half hour. You are both wanted criminals, and can face the courts, or face me." He cracked his knuckles at the last, making Roxanne wince painfully.

It was her fault. If she hadn't dragged them from the restaurant. Or maybe, if he'd been monitoring for thirty minutes, maybe it was their indiscretion with their names. Whatever the reason, this moment was the very one she had been dreading, refusing to think about. The one where they didn't make it to the plan. The one where _he _caught _them_.

Roxanne calmly turned around and twisted the dial of her watch, letting the disguise drop from her form. She watched Wayne's face as he took in her costume, tight, black and form enhancing. It gave Syx the moment to dodge to the right, letting his disguise drop as well. "Guess we'll face you," Roxanne replied, her feet spread to absorb the impact of the kickback from the De-Gun.

It should have worked. By all rights, everything she had learned and gleaned from the books should have made the De-Stroy setting work. And it did, in the lab. Of course, there, the gun was fully charged and ready to fire. In the real world, it took a minute to charge. A minute hadn't seemed like that long a time, what with Syx being the main target, after all.

But then again, Roxanne hadn't counted on being caught unawares, ten minutes after a marriage proposal, with the gun not having those precious sixty seconds to charge. Syx had leapt in, knowing the limitations of the weapon, only to be thrown through the front pane of the restaurant. Glass shattered behind Roxanne as she desperately pulled the trigger again and again, hoping and praying that the stupid thing would just fire, sending teeny tiny de-molecularized fragments of Metro Man all over the street.

But he reached her first, grabbing the gun from her grasp and tossing it somewhere too far away for Syx to follow, even as he pulled himself up from behind a wrecked table ten feet inside the restaurant.

"Bad call, Roxie," Wayne said heavily, one large hand settling over her wrists.

"Stop," Syx commanded, quite coldly from where he stood inside the restaurant. By this time, the customers inside the restaurant had ducked for cover, and were watching the exchange in fascinated entertainment, as they had for most of Metro Man and Megamind's careers. Syx took his time, brushing himself off before striding up to Metro Man.

"You don't need to worry about her," he said, his voice completely devoid of emotion. "She's completely under my control. A mind-controlling drug. Remains in the system for about 72 hours at a time. Nothing she has done has been of her own will." He stared everywhere but at her, his voice betraying nothing.

Metro Man's hand loosened almost imperceptively on her own. "But that's… you can't take away someone's free will!" Metro Man thundered in righteous tones, blind to Roxanne's slack mouth and shocked gaze.

"Of course I can," Megamind replied smoothly, "I'm a criminal mastermind of devious and brilliant means, and when I decide I want something, I take it."

Roxanne watched the exchange in disbelief. Did Wayne really buy this crap? She had decided Syx was the one for her. She had decided that. They had a bond that baffled the both of them, giving her access to his very thoughts and emotions. She knew exactly when he was trying to control her and it generally epically failed unless it was controlling her in the direction of their bedroom.

"I orchestrated the driving incident as well," she heard him add hastily. "The real Roxanne has been entirely innocent of any misdeed." She watched her lover inspect his gloves carelessly, "She's been under my control this entire time."

She felt Wayne's grasp nearly let her go, "That does explain a lot," he replied, looking at her with wide-eyed concern and no uncertain amount of guilt.

"Exactly," Syx's voice left no room for argument, "So, why don't you just let her go, handcuff me and cart me back off to prison then?"

Wayne looked from her to Syx with a growing sense of disquiet. "You took advantage of her," he said dully, staring at the blue alien with a growing anger, even as the police sirens began to fill the background, as if on cue.

She could have punched Syx herself for the smirk his spread thinly across his lips, "Multiple times," he replied, "In as many situations as I could imagine."

"You…" Wayne's voice broke, his grip finally falling from her wrists entirely. The police cars pulled up in front of the restaurant as Wayne's fist met Syx's smirk. "You disgusting, slimy…"

Roxanne heard her voice cry out for Syx. She felt her legs run to his side. "Syx," she whispered as she tried to help him stay standing, "What are you doing?"

"Keeping you safe," he hissed, waving her off as he turned back to the hero and retraced the distance the punch had put between them. "See?" he said jeeringly, "She still comes running." He smirked at Wayne's rapidly returning uncertainty. "What?" Syx continued, "Do you doubt my brilliance? My ability? My skill with a chemistry set?" He shrugged, "You really believe Roxanne Ritchie would chose _me_? An evil alien?" He laughed callously, "I'm certain that Miss Ritchie would not have been nearly as willing a participant in certain… _activities_ without some chemical aid." He dragged his tongue over his wickedly sharp teeth with a dramatic flare for villainy as he insinuated things Roxanne closed her eyes against.

The idea of her love for him being fabricated, her consent coerced, it was unfathomable. And apparently exactly what Metro Man wanted to believe. Roxanne watched in disbelief as the police and Metro Man ignored her. The rain began to pour as Metro Man punched Syx again, this time sending him into a brick wall with enough force to send Syx into a crumpled heap. A ragged laugh escaped him, despite his defeated position, "You just wait," he said, "72 hours…. Then Miss Ritchie will remember her own mind. You can keep her safe until then, I presume?"

She watched them handcuff Syx with a curious detachment. He'd just given her the instructions to follow. She had 72 hours to have her own feelings, then she would have to get it together and pretend. For her own sake. For the sake of ever seeing him again. She ran a finger over the cool band on her finger, he'd find a way back to her. This was his promise that he would.


	23. Madness

**Pale Blue Shadows**

_Chapter 23: Madness _

_She watched them handcuff Syx with a curious detachment. He'd just given her the instructions to follow. She had 72 hours to have her own feelings, then she would have to get it together and pretend. For her own sake. For the sake of ever seeing him again. She ran a finger over the cool band on her finger, he'd find a way back to her. This was his promise that he would. _

If Roxanne thought hard enough, she could remember fragments of the day they arrested Syx. The rain had poured down, and in a blurry sort of slow motion, she could see herself struggling against arms and hands. She can see herself fighting for her love, for her heart, for all the things she has come to believe in. It is all watercolour, however. Nothing is clear. Nothing makes much sense. Syx bought her 72 hours, and she had promptly allowed herself to lose her mind. For 72 hours.

At present, Roxanne sat in a small room. Pale blue walls did little to brighten the atmosphere. Outside the single, barred window, the rain fell in heavy droplets. Roxanne followed the drops as they chased each other down the glass. She itched to press her finger against the cool glass, to have a tactile sensation other than soft and warm. But the bars were on the inside as well as the outside. Well, bars was a strong word. Between her and the glass was a fine, screen-like mesh. Too strong to tear, too fine to obstruct too much of the view of the outside. A preventative measure. Apparently access to glass could mean access to broken glass. And apparently that could be dangerous to her fragile state.

Roxanne let herself fall back onto the bed. It was soft in the way that all expensive institutions were. Soft enough to charge hefty sums, itchy enough to still bring industrial sized washing facilities to mind. If Roxanne wasn't careful, the whole place would make her feel like she was wrapped entirely in cotton batting. Warm, soft, isolate, fuzzy. Then again, the fuzzy could be from the sedatives they had been giving her since she had nearly broken her wrist trying to slap Metro Man.

Roxanne closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Seventy-two hours had passed. Soon they would come for her, would poke and pry with gentle questions, hoping that their approach would be more effective than the uselessly urgent, forceful interrogation of the police. That or she would have to face Wayne, and a lengthy monologue of self-recrimination and self-flagellation followed by puppy dog-ish eyes begging that all could be forgiven and forgotten.

A voice came at her room's door. Self-flagellation monologue it would be then.

"Roxie," his voice sounded heavy and broken, "I'm sorry."

Roxanne did nothing to acknowledge his statement. She rubbed the back of her fingers against the bedding listlessly as she stared up at the ceiling. Wayne was still behind the door, though the window in it ensured a fairly unobstructed view for those not locked into the expensive rooms of the private psychiatric hospital.

"Roxie," Wayne began again, his voice cracking slightly. "I mean it, I am sorry. I should have been there for you. You asked me to be there for you. I should have… I should have had faith in you." He voice held a note of desperation. "You would never have done something so stupid on your own. I should have realized that something was wrong… that you were under _his_ influence." A strangled sound left Wayne's throat, "I failed you. I didn't… I didn't save you from him. And… and that's my _job_."

Roxanne lay still, his words drifting over her meaninglessly. His misplaced guilt, his self-recrimination, his tortured soul routine; it all meant nothing to her. She most certainly had done something so stupid as driving drunk on her own. She had, indeed, managed to kill all on her own. Finally taking notice of the hypocrisy and stupidity of the masses? Also her. Really, upon reflection, she hadn't needed to be saved from anyone or anything. She had only needed to open her eyes. That was something that needed to be done by herself. No one could have helped her to do that. Finding a place in the world after seeing people for who they were? That she had needed help with. And that had all been Syx. Her personal saviour. Everyone else's demon.

And if she was going to see him again, to hold him again, she was going to have to pretend that his lies were true.

"Roxie?" Wayne's voice was little more than a broken whisper. "Can you… I understand if you don't want to talk to me. Or even look at me. I let him… I let him use you. Maybe I even pushed you into his trap. But," there was a long pause, "Can you at least let me know if you are alright in there?"

Roxanne twitched her hand deliberately, acknowledging his words with a hardened heart. "I'm," her voice was barely above a whisper, though she knew it didn't need to be to reach Wayne's ears. "I'm not alright," she said softly, brokenly, letting her emotions rise to the fore, even if the reason for them was the exact opposite of the lines she must recite. She kept her vision level on the white ceiling tiles. "I had no free will, Wayne," she lifted her voice, "I know you have no idea what that's like. To be completely trapped. I thought…" she swallowed hard, congratulating herself on an Oscar performance. "He made me think, made me feel _like I was in love with him_."

Roxanne's mouth twitched into a smirk, which she almost instantly schooled into an expression of abject emotional pain. "You'll never understand what you did, Wayne," she whispered in a tearful voice. "The things I did, the things I let him do." She muffled a sob, "_The things I let him do, Wayne_."

The sound of fist meeting metal echoed into the room, reverberating up and down the hallway outside. Roxanne covered the twisted smile on her lips. She'd leave it at that then, let Wayne torture himself with his own darkest dreams for awhile. It'd make it so much sweeter on the day that she could walk back to Syx's side. Crushing Wayne emotionally would be a lovely side dish to his death. Roxanne could already picture the sudden droop of his shoulders, the look of sudden incredulity, the abject betrayal when the woman who had suffered so terribly at Megamind's hands _chose _to return to his side rather than to stand at Wayne's own.

It was delicious. Abso-fucking-lutely delicious. And Roxanne's plan to destroy Metroman began to take on a greater scope. New realms of possibility opened for her. Oh, revenge would be more than a dish – it would be a succulent banquet of agony.

And it would take a true artist to prepare it. Roxanne smiled wickedly, an evil queen, even without her king, her minions, or her throne.


	24. The Dramatic Arts

**Pale Blue Shadows**

_Chapter 24: The Dramatic Arts_

_Roxanne's plan to destroy Metroman began to take on a greater scope. New realms of possibility opened for her. Oh, revenge would be more than a dish – it would be a succulent banquet of agony. _

_And it would take a true artist to prepare it. Roxanne smiled wickedly, an evil queen, even without her king, her minions, or her throne. _

"Subject appeared responsive, alert, and cognizant of his surroundings. Subject's voluntary mutism persists. Subject listened closely but made no response to attempts to engage him in conversation…"

"Doctor Sanger?" the blonde nurse's aide interrupted the older man as he dictated his report, her worried eyes staring at the preoccupied psychiatrist. "Your eleven o'clock is here," the aide pressed a manicured hand into Roxanne's lower back, pushing her forward into the office. "Miss Ritchie," the aide persisted, "Scott's patient?"

The older man looked up very suddenly, his grey eyes wide. "Oh!" he exclaimed, "Miss _Ritchie_!" His hands swept his desk clear of paperwork in an instant, depositing the recorder into a desk drawer with a swiftness that belied his apparent age. Grey hair receded back from his lined, but relaxed, features. His doctor's coat was so white it nearly hurt Roxanne's eyes. He stood for a moment, long enough to extend a hand that Roxanne showed no inclination of accepting. He frowned, a tight-lipped expression that signaled worry as strongly as the shadow in his eyes. He sat back down in his leather chair, arms resting lightly on its arms, watching Roxanne closely as the aide pressed her into the soft chair in front of Sanger's desk.

"I'll be back for you in forty minutes, Miss Ritchie," the aide chirped, nodding her head at the doctor, "Dr. Sanger." She exited quickly, pulling the door closed behind her with exaggerated care.

"Miss Ritchie," Sanger began, a sympathetic smile crossing his still-tight lips. "My name is Doctor Sanger, and I will be your psychiatrist as you get through this difficult time. I know you have been through a great deal. Life may seem rather bleak right now. But I want you to know that there are those who care very deeply for you, who want nothing more than your recovery from these traumatic times."

Roxanne stared at the old man, her expression one of fragility and nervousness. She fidgeted slightly, shying from the window as a particularly strong gust of wind rushed past outside. She turned large eyes on the doctor. "Is it…" she paused, her voice timid and hesitant, "Is it safe here?"

"Oh, my dear," the older man said with warmth and sadness in his voice, "I can promise you it is safe here. No one will hurt you. No harm will come to you. This is a place of healing…"

"_No_," Roxanne's voice was insistent. "I mean, is it safe? Is it safe _from him_?" She leaned forward slightly, her expression panicked and fearful. "Can he get me here?" she whispered in conspiratorial tones.

Sanger stared at her for a very long moment. Compassion flooded his features as he rose from his desk to kneel beside her chair. "You poor woman," the doctor said softly, attempting to take her hands into his own.

"Don't touch me!" Roxanne shrieked, pulling back from him as if he were a snake. "No one can touch me. Not… no… I'm… don't touch me." Roxanne's gaze flitted around the room, terror colouring her voice as she shrank into the chair, hiding her face in her hands. "I'll never be safe," she sobbed into her hands. "I'll never… I'll always… How can I ever be clean?"

Sanger's expression was of unguarded concern. "We can make this manageable," he said softly. "I can help you, Miss Ritchie, I can. I have helped many young women like you before. Similar circumstances. All were held against their will. All suffered at their captor's hands. All felt used and scared and as if they would never again be free. But I promise you, all this will pass. All wounds can heal. You need only let me help you."

Roxanne's face emerged slowly from behind her hands. "Do you promise?" she whispered, tears running down her face. "I am safe here? He can't… he can't… _poison_ me again?" The look she gave the doctor was hopeful in a pitiably fragile way. "I can't… I have no choice when he… I feel like doing what he tells me is natural, like it is what I must do." Her eyes searched the doctor's expression. "I let him do all those things to me. I'm… I let him. I couldn't fight. I… I'm weak."

Sanger stood up slowly, arthritic knees fighting the motion. "Miss Ritchie," he murmured, "You most certainly are not weak. And just as I told all the women who have suffered before, _it is not your fault_. You were made to do things. Some were terrible, some will haunt you, all hurt you. But it was never your fault. It is his. His and all the psychopaths who have come before him."

Sanger's back turned away from his patient for an instant as he walked back around his desk. It was only for a moment, but it was long enough for him to miss the wicked glare that flashed across Roxanne's eyes. All this could be overcome.

* * *

><p>"Is it true?" a brown-haired girl asked suddenly, bumping a wrapped wrist against Roxanne's lower arm.<p>

"Is what true?" Roxanne asked softly, stiffening against the unwanted contact.

"That you were held captive by that alien guy. Megabrain, or something?" The girl tore carelessly into a whole wheat roll, her bandaged wrists telling a story that her carefree attitude did not.

Roxanne let her spoon slip slowly from her fingertips. It was her first day eating in the cafeteria. Two weeks of therapy and she was deemed fit to leave her room of her own volition. ""Megamind," she whispered softly, "His name is Megamind."

The brunette shrugged and tore another piece off her roll. "Still, alien guy. Must've been interesting."

Roxanne stiffened her back, let her hands fall to her sides. "Interesting?" she whispered back, horror flooding her voice, "You think being held against your will, forced to do unspeakable things, is _interesting_?"

"So, true then," the girl replied, her brown eyes guileless, as another piece of roll was torn from the whole. A small pile of shredded bread was forming on her plate as each ripped piece fell.

Roxanne's expression hardened. "So," she spat back, "Is it true?"

The brown-haired girl smirked slightly, "That I tried to kill myself by slashing my wrists but am too stupid to do the research and did it wrong?" She waited a moment for Roxanne's reaction. A reaction that Roxanne didn't give. The girl's smirk widened, "Yeah, it's true." She shoved a hand into Roxanne's personal space, "Tiff," she announced.

Roxanne looked up at the brown-haired girl, layers of fiction melting under the recognition of a kindred spirit. "Roxanne," she said, accepting the handshake. "Do you hate everyone here too?"

Tiff's smirk spread into a broad smile. "Oh yeah. You know it, girl. Bunch of lying shits with their heads so far up their pompous asses that they can't see the world for the sack of crap it is."

Roxanne nodded slowly, "I was accused of killing a guy before Megamind officially captured me."

Tiff shrugged. "I did kill a guy. Killed a bunch of guys actually. Mind you, it was sanctioned by the States, so it apparently isn't supposed to hurt." She flashed a fake smile, "Corporeal Thornton of the United States Army reporting." The smile dropped, "War sucks, just so you know. And our country is a big bully. I don't care what the official line is. I was there. I saw it. I killed people who probably didn't deserve to die. I'm the one who has to deal with it now."

Roxanne nodded, consideration crossing her features. "The people who actually deserve to die usually live the longest," she observed.

Tiff smiled sadly at her, "Death doesn't stick to some people, you know."

Roxanne looked at her for a long moment. "Hasn't Sanger told you it's not your fault, yet?"

Tiff laughed at that. "You're funny, Rox. I'm lucky my family is rich, so I could get into this place. But seeing Sanger? Good luck with that one. There's not many who get to see the head honcho. You need ridiculous money to see him."

Roxanne tilted her head slightly, puzzling the math out. "Huh," she said finally, "Guess Wayne's trying to buy his way to a clear conscience."

* * *

><p>The sun was nearly blinding. Weeks of institutional lighting, even expensive institutional lighting, left her feeling exposed under natural sunlight. But they were giving her time outside. It was only the gardens, and she had the world's strongest bodyguard, but it was outside nevertheless. Outside meant progress. Progress meant getting out of here. Getting out of here would mean step one could be crossed off the checklist. Roxanne looked up from beneath her eyelashes, eying her companion. She was feeling impatient. Perhaps she could do a little… prep work for step two. Lay the groundwork, so to speak.<p>

"Wayne," she said softly, pulling her companion's attention down towards herself as they strolled through the sunlit gardens.

"Roxie?" His voice contained so much hope, his eyes sparkled with joy. It was, after all, the first time she had voluntarily initiated conversation with him since her rescue.

"I know you're paying for my stay here. And I know it's not cheap. You have me seeing Doctor Sanger personally. I know that costs a fortune." Roxanne let her gaze settle on the roses budding in the near distance. "What I want to know is _why_?"

Roxanne pulled her gaze from the rose bushes and their wicked thorns. The image of blood being drawn, juicy red cuts with ruby-like droplets falling from them tortured her. So near the pain, and yet so far. The plan needed to be followed. Shoving Wayne into a bank of rose bushes would only set her back.

"Why help me? I've been… I'm damaged goods, Wayne. I've done terrible things. I don't understand why you would want to be associated with… well with any of it." Roxanne turned to face him, her expression open and confused.

Wayne looked to be on the verge of tears (though Roxanne knew he would never cry). "Roxie," he gathered her hands into his own, drawing only a slight twitch from Roxanne, one easily passed off as a lingering effect of the damages done while she was held captive. "Roxie, I failed you." Wayne looked her straight in the eyes, his earnest expression holding her own. "It was my fear of being associated with anything bad that put you into this situation. If I had been smart enough to see the truth, I would have gotten to the bottom of… of that incident. I would have discovered whatever it was Megamind was using on you to control you. And I would have been able to keep you safe from him. Kept you from becoming his captive. Or at least I would have looked harder for you when you went missing, instead of spending all that energy on condemning you for a crime you didn't commit."

Roxanne swallowed, her expression one of sadness. "So… you feel guilty? Like you need to make it up to me?" she asked softly.

"Yes, a million times over, Roxie." He was exaggerating again, but Roxanne plastered on a sad smile and kept the bile from rising in her throat. "But its not just that I feel guilty. I am guilty. Guilty of letting a woman I care about be turned into a victim."

Roxanne squeezed his hands for a moment. "Don't feel guilty, Wayne," she said softly. "It wasn't your fault. How were we supposed to know just how evil he really was? I mean, I always thought it was almost a joke. I thought it was just a game. I didn't realize that he could be… that he would sink that low." Roxanne let the smile drift away into a troubled expression. Her eyes fell to the ground, her lower lip folding in slightly so she could worry it lightly with her teeth. "How could you know, if I hadn't even dreamed of it?"

Wayne's grip on her hands tightened slightly in response. "All I know, Roxie, is that I will never forgive myself for letting you get hurt like that. All I ever wanted was to keep you safe. I just… lost sight of that for a little while. But I won't, not again."

Roxanne looked up rather suddenly, taken aback by his veiled admission. "You plan on keeping me safe forever now?" she said, letting a joking note enter her voice.

"Yes." Roxanne blinked. He was serious. "Roxie, you are the bravest, most honest, most caring person I know. And I was an idiot to believe otherwise. As soon as that… that monster... admitted that he'd been manipulating you right from the start of all of it, I knew it was true. I knew I had made the biggest mistake of my life. Leaving you alone. Leaving you to get hurt."

"Wayne," Roxanne simpered, hiding behind her eyelashes the way she had seen other women do for him, knowing he liked it. "You don't know… you don't want me. Not after everything. I'm… not worthy. I'm not worth you spending all that effort on keeping me safe. I mean, you need to live your life too. You should find someone to… well, someone to be with. Not wasting your time trying to take care of me."

"Roxie," Wayne's voice was soft, as he raised one hand from their joined hands to her chin. He tipped her face up towards him. "Roxie, I have found someone to be with. I told you that a long time ago."

Roxanne fluttered her eyelashes, licking her lips lightly as she tangled her fingers with those of the hand she still held. "Wayne…" she whispered.

"Shhh," he murmured back, tracing her jawline with gentle fingers. "Roxie, I've asked you before, and I know you turned me down, but I'm willing to try again. After you leave here, when you feel ready to come home, will you be mine? Will you let me take care of you? Let me… love you?"

Roxanne bit her lip, her eyes shining. "Wayne," she whispered in reply, her voice catching in her throat, "Oh Wayne, how could I ask for anything more?"

His lips captured hers in a chaste kiss that lingered for a moment before he pulled away. Roxanne gazed up at him, her breathing strangely heavy for such a simple kiss. "Maybe it was too soon to do that," he said quietly, "I don't want you to feel like I'm forcing you into anything…"

"Wayne," Roxanne interrupted, "I feel safe with you."

He smiled at that, a bright smile that shone like the sun. "I'm so happy, Roxie."

Roxanne smiled back, her eyes burning slightly in the brightness of the natural sunlight. "So am I, Wayne. So am I."

It was almost too easy, step two of the plan. It was like Wayne wanted to have his heart ripped out, shredded, and served back to him. Microwaved, of course.


	25. This Longing

**Pale Blue Shadows**

_Chapter 25: This Longing_

_He smiled at that, a bright smile that shone like the sun. "I'm so happy, Roxie."_

_Roxanne smiled back, her eyes burning slightly in the brightness of the natural sunlight. "So am I, Wayne. So am I."_

_It was almost too easy, step two of the plan. It was like Wayne wanted to have his heart ripped out, shredded, and served back to him. Microwaved, of course._

"You know they'll let you go whenever you say you wanna go, right?" Tiff asked Roxanne conversationally. "I mean, you're okay." She looked Roxanne up and down, "Well, maybe a little skittish, but mostly okay. You're not gonna go off yourself, and you've mostly gotten over the whole jumping a mile anytime someone so much as brushes by you. Seriously, don't think anyone has missed you swapping spit in the garden with Mr. Hunk-of-Gorgeous-and-Super-Rich-Too."

Roxanne shrugged. "He makes me feel safe. I don't feel like I'm being forced into anything."

Tiff nodded, "Uh huh. So, in English, you're okay with the kissing because you know you've got him by the short hairs." A bemused expression crossed the brunette's face, "Don't look at me like that, Rox." She smiled conspiratorially, "If you need to be in control to make it work, then power to you. But be honest with yourself. Don't need you relapsing and turning back into the trembly jelly you were when I first met you. I mean, you were a mess, chicky."

Roxanne rolled her eyes. "I was kept captive and under mind control by an alien for several months, Tiff. I think I'm allowed to be traumatized by the whole experience."

"Of course," Tiff agreed, "I mean, look at how screwed up the people who just _think_ they've been sexed up by aliens are. You know you were." She paused, inspecting her chewed fingernails. "You should write a book about it. 'Raped By A Spaceman: A True Story.' It'd be a best seller. You could make millions. Not that you'll need them."

Roxanne knew enough to at least fake looking uncomfortable. "Tiff," she plastered on a look of uncertainty.

"Oh come on," Tiff rolled her eyes, "You gotta learn to joke about it, Rox. How the hell else are you gonna survive the reporters when you get outta here?" Tiff shook her head, eyes flashing with mild irritation. "You know better than anyone how nasty those questions are gonna get and how hard those reporters are gonna dig. It doesn't matter how long you stay, they'll be out there waiting." She sighed, "I'm just trying to help you, ya know. I want you to be ready for that."

Roxanne smiled weakly. "Love you too, Tiff. Even if you have a bizarre way of showing it."

"You know it, chicky." Tiff threw an arm around Roxanne's shoulders. "Still not gonna tell me about alien anatomy though, are ya?"

Roxanne covered a smirk. "Not on your life, Tiff. Not on your life."

* * *

><p>"There are still concerns, Mr. Scott," Sanger's face was earnest as he spoke. "Miss Ritchie is still sensitive to most physical interactions…"<p>

"Can you blame her?" Wayne's voice was incredulous. "He… that _thing_ drugged her into letting him do whatever he wanted to her."

"Indeed," Sanger looked less than impressed, "And yet I notice a certain _closeness_ between you and Miss Ritchie has developed nonetheless." Sanger's tight-lipped smile held a certain amount of reproach as he leaned back into his black leather chair, "I want you to be prepared for a long wait. You will need to be patient. You've already gotten closer to Miss Ritchie than anyone else. Evidently she feels safe with you. But that should not be taken lightly. Do not push her, Mr. Scott. Relapses are common in cases… well, cases similar to this."

Wayne looked at Sanger aghast, "I would never force myself on her, if that is what you're suggesting!"

Sanger sighed, "I mean no insult, Mr. Scott. I just want you to exercise a certain amount of restraint. Miss Ritchie may not clearly know her own limits, and your… generosity… may place her in a situation where she feels obligated to reciprocate your feelings and desires."

"She knows I only want her to be happy," Wayne said firmly. "I've told her that."

"And your concern for her is admirable, Mr. Scott," Sanger continued, "But be prepared. You are taking on a very delicate role. She may be doing extremely well right now, but a relapse is always possible."

"She's the strongest person I know," Wayne leaned forward in his chair , looming slightly over the older man's desk. "If she says she's ready, and she's willing to accept what I can offer her, then its her choice, and she's ready to make it."

Sanger sighed again, evidently feeling rather put upon, "Alright, Mr. Scott." Sanger scooped up a rather delicate looking pen from the surface of his desk and scrawled an indecipherable signature across the bottom of the release papers that sat upon his desk. "An approved, voluntary release into your care, Mr. Scott. Feel free to get in touch should anything arise."

* * *

><p>Roxanne wore a strapless red dress. The satin fabric wrapped around her body, twisting into a form-fitting glove of crimson. Her long black lashes fluttered, shimmery eye shadow and liner widening her bright blue eyes into an expression of innocence and demure sexuality. Elbow-length white gloves wrapped themselves delicately around the well-muscled arm of her escort. "Are you certain they're ready to have me there?" she murmured softly, gazing upwards from beneath her lashes.<p>

"Roxie," Wayne's voice rumbled gently, "What they're ready for doesn't matter to me. What you are ready for does." He returned her gaze, a look of concern in his expression. "Are you ready for this?" he asked quietly, "I don't want you to feel like you have to be here if you don't want to be."

Roxanne's nervous pout melted away into a fragile smile. "Oh, Wayne," she simpered, "Where else would I want to be? This is where _you_ are."

Wayne's free hand settled warmly onto her gloved fingers, where they rested on his arm. "Roxie," he breathed, his eyes never leaving hers, "You are a wonder."

Roxanne pulled her gaze away, bashfully ducking his attention. "You make me feel so…" she began, letting the sentence trail off, her voice saying what she had no words for. Away from his gaze, her narrowed eyes simmered, and the black eyeliner she wore gave her eyes a decidedly devilish intent. But an onlooker need only blink before the scene reset, Roxanne Ritchie's innocent baby blues settling nervously on the figures in the room, searching the shadows, and starting at the sound of footsteps that were just a little too declarative behind her. She was a vision, but also a recognizable victim, a reminder of the deceptive and consuming villainy fair Metro City was plagued by.

The grand ballroom of the city's finest hotel, The Balustrade, was decorated lavishly in honour of the mayor's re-election. The city's finest and most respectable citizens were celebrating their successes and the shockingly productive calm of a world in which Megamind was not at large. But that was a name that was not to slip too loudly from anyone's lips tonight. Not when Wayne Scott was bringing the still-fragile Roxanne Ritchie to tonight's celebration.

The couple entered the room as quietly as possible, but it took only a moment for wide eyes to drink in the sight of the city's wealthiest son so obviously courting the damaged ex-reporter who had been their city's greatest loss. Buildings and road repairs could be bought. What had happened to the lovely Miss Ritchie could never be undone or repaired. A fact that left many of the city's socialites wondering what on earth Wayne Scott was doing with such a used and broken, if lovelier than ever, creature.

From Wayne's side, Roxanne watched the eyes that watched her. A slight, but noticeable, tremor ran through her lithe body. Wayne's hand tightened around her own, pressing her fingers more firmly into the strong muscles of his arm. "The moment it becomes too much, you tell me," he murmured into her ear, compassion and sensitivity in his voice.

Roxanne gifted him with a grateful smile. "It's okay," she whispered in return, her head leaning in just slightly towards him, "I know I'm safe. You're here." Delicate, white teeth worried a crimson lip, "Just don't… just don't leave me alone. I… He… events like this were…"

"Shhh," Wayne smiled sadly, "I had them triple security at the jail. No one's getting in or out of there tonight. I remember what happened at the last celebration the mayor held that you covered." His lips were tight, remembering a kidnapping.

For a moment, Roxanne went distant, her eyes staring at some distant point in space. From outside, one might think she was struggling against a memory that after more recent events would be tinged with much greater horror than a mere kidnapping had once warranted for the reporter. Inside, Roxanne's heart contracted painfully.

The last time the mayor won the election, Roxanne had been the reporter of choice to cover the event. She'd worn a black dress that night, shorter than her usual. She'd known that Megamind would make an appearance, after all, he showed up at all of the city's major events. The moment she'd been kidnapped was fuzzy, but the Knock-Out Spray always had that effect. What she remembered clearly was a pair of bright green eyes focused almost dreamily on her as she sat tied to a chair, her long, exposed legs crossed artfully, as her short dress rode high on her thighs.

Roxanne swallowed hard, a feeling of longing rising from deep within her. She tamped down on her feelings, fighting the urge to drop the whole charade now and simply run to where her lover was. She knew exactly where he was. Knew how he would be comfortably slouched in the chair they kept for him. Knew his eyes would be watching the television screen as he flipped channels. Knew that they would focus hard upon the screen when her form appeared in the midst of the news report. Knew they would narrow when they saw her choice in escort. Knew how he would straighten in his seat, his hands unconsciously drawing together, as a pensive scowl would creep across his handsome features. Knew that he would decode her plan in a second, if only he ignored the rampant jealously that would swamp his giant possessive brain.

Roxanne took a deep breath, steadying herself as she pulled away from her own thoughts. "Roxie?" Wayne asked, his concerned eyes searching hers. Roxanne's free hand clenched unconsciously into a fist, the urge to punch the earnest face in front of her nearly overwhelming as her hatred seethed beneath her skin.

"Maybe we should get some punch?" she squeaked instead. The plan had to be followed. It was the only way.


	26. Little Truths

**Pale Blue Shadows**

_Chapter 26: Little Truths_

_Roxanne took a deep breath, steadying herself as she pulled away from her own thoughts. "Roxie?" Wayne asked, his concerned eyes searching hers. Roxanne's free hand clenched unconsciously into a fist, the urge to punch the earnest face in front of her nearly overwhelming as her hatred seethed beneath her skin. _

"_Maybe we should get some punch?" she squeaked instead. The plan had to be followed. It was the only way. _

Being at the receiving end of camera flashes and reporters' microphones was an unnerving experience after having been wrapped in the comfortable cocoon of the private hospital. Wayne had indeed spoiled her by keeping her away from the reporters and the various attentions of the media. After all, a local television personage turned public enemy turned mind-controlled victim, wasn't an opportunity that came along often. Her story was a bona fide tragedy, with a fresh chapter of fairy tale being appended even as she walked down the main stairs of The Balustrade on Wayne Scott's arm.

"Miss Ritchie…" a reporter's voice began, nearly drowned out behind the crowd of paparazzi-style coverage.

"Before any of you begin," Wayne's voice cut through the cacophony, a strong voice of authority acting subtly upon the psychology of any who heard it, "I would like to ask you to be respectful of Miss Ritchie's privacy. Her life is not gossip for you to spin and peddle to increase your sales. What happened to her was a terrible thing, and she will share it with the world when she is ready, and not a moment before that." A hard gaze directed upon each individual in the crowd silenced any remaining noises. Chastened fingers let cameras droop and paused recordings. "When Miss Ritchie is ready, we will schedule an appropriate avenue for you to obtain her story, but until then, you will hold your questions. Unless, of course, they're about what a lovely time she is having tonight, at the mayor's party." Wayne flashed a dazzling smile, earning nods and sympathetic smiles from the reporters, many of whom slunk across the hotel's magnificent lobby to interview other notables and guests who were leaving the lavish affair.

A few hung back, snapping a few photographs of the pair before nodding their thanks. One lone reporter remained. "Miss Ritchie," the woman began, catching her attention only now that the crowd of cameras had dispersed. "My name is Helena Heeley, Channel 8 News."

At the mention of her previous employer, Roxanne finally met the eyes of the reporter who had followed her most doggedly that evening. The blonde woman was made up for the evening, a modest, but fashionable, forest green dress capturing the green of her eyes. "I wanted to ask you some questions, not about what has happened to you, but about where you see yourself going now. Are you planning on returning to the world of reporting, for instance?"

Roxanne let a smile slip across her lips. The woman seemed tense, but determined. Apparently, this woman was smart enough to know that the world of news television revolved around capturing viewer interest. Roxanne's old job was likely open to her, should she want it. Taking it would likely spell the end of the blonde's career. She took a slow half-step towards the woman, "To be honest," she began, brushing a stray lock of her artfully styled hair from her eyes, "I hadn't really..."

"Of course she won't be," Wayne's voice interrupted, his brown eyes glaring at the reporter in displeasure. "She's been through a traumatic experience. She deserves safety and security, things which her old job very obviously could not provide."

Roxanne felt her head swing around to stare at Wayne independent of her own thought. The look she wore could kill. Her eyes sparked electric blue, and had he been looking at her, he would have known in an instant that she held no soft feelings for him. Within moments, she had schooled her features back into calm. The hand that had reflexively clenched at her side smoothed itself across Wayne's forearm as she turned once more to face the reporter. "I hadn't really thought about it," she continued, smiling warmly, "But as Wayne said," she tugged Wayne's arm closer towards herself, "It seems like a dangerous sort of option." She frowned slightly, false concern writing itself across her features, "I do hope they are taking better precautions to protect you, Miss Heeley."

The blonde raised an eyebrow at Roxanne, a sideways glance racing between her and Wayne. Her mouth opened, an unsaid word telling Roxanne that her temper had caused too much of her mask to slip. The reporter's mouth closed again, a thoughtful look in her green eyes. "Thank you for your time, Miss Ritchie," she said suddenly, a smile on her pink lips, "And yours, Mr. Scott," she nodded.

No word of Roxanne's slip ever appeared in Helena Heeley's news reports. Roxanne passed it off as a desire to keep her potential job rival out of the lime light. Even though, deep down, she wished that tiny slip could have made its way back to Syx, just in case he was letting jealousy win the battle to decode her plan.

* * *

><p>It was another two weeks before Wayne let her go out on her own. It was a sunny Tuesday in September when she finally set foot into Metro City alone. It had been nearly five months since the day Syx had been recaptured. Since he had spat out his lie to keep her out of prison, even as they carted him back in. Nearly five months since the prison had increased its security, updated all of its systems, and isolated its computer systems from outside access. Funds from the Scott estate had bolstered the budget, providing the funds no one else had ever been able to scrap together to keep the city's blue menace imprisoned. No visitors were allowed into the prison's "D" wing. No gifts or outside materials either. Even the food given to the only prisoner stuck in lonely "D" wing was scanned before being delivered, automatically, by machines who's controls were inaccessible from the room they interacted with.<p>

No, Syx would not be managing an escape anytime soon, not alone anyway. Roxanne hugged herself as she strolled down the wide avenue that led from the Wayne mansion into the downtown. Deep green leaves filtered the sunlight as she walked beneath the stately trees that fronted the homes of Metro City's wealthy. She felt terribly alone. If she had known that day in early April that she wouldn't be able to feel Syx in her heart and her head for months to come, she would never have complained about it.

Idle fingers slipped to her right hand and twisted something unseen around a slender finger. She made no show of it, but her eyes gazed down at the thin blue band around her finger. The strange blue metal gazed back at her, plain, unadorned, but miraculous nonetheless. Her engagement ring. Syx's own design. Only a man with a back-up plan would create a ring that his fiancé could make disappear.

Roxanne held the tears inside herself. She held the sobs somewhere deep within her chest, in a place where the ache was so fierce that the pain crystallized into pure hate and icy purpose. She twisted the band again, in the reverse direction. Like a mirage, its form shimmered for a moment. Then, it was gone. Except for her. For her, the cool metal band sang against her skin, a reminder that she belonged to someone unbelievably brilliant, indescribably wonderful, and terribly brave. She smiled, an honest, open smile filled with the sadness of the kind of love that makes you ache inside. Genuine emotion was not something she was able to indulge in often.

The leafy avenues gave way to the grey concrete and glass of downtown as her seemingly wandering steps took her farther and farther from the place Wayne had her calling home. The narrow sidewalks, the dirty roads, and the curious looks of those too hurried to stop and ask questions felt like home to her. Downtown was the same as it ever was. Anonymous in a crowd, Roxanne let her feet take her to the spot she'd itched to return to. It was unlikely that she would find the answers to her questions, but no one ever got anywhere without trying.

Strangely, no one had rebuilt. The ruins of a restaurant gazed across a less busy street at Roxanne. No one seemed particularly interested in it. Well, no one but the homeless man who sat in the still mostly-intact doorway. The shelter it provided seemed enough to have held his interest for the afternoon at least.

Roxanne shivered slightly as a cloud began to sneak across the sun. She rubbed her hands up her arms as a cooler breeze snaked its way through the buildings. She cast a glance up and down the street, making a run for it when a break in the traffic presented itself.

"Whatcha doing there then?" a gruff voice demanded.

Roxanne raised her gaze to face the grizzled old man who, upon closer inspection, had taken up a more permanent residence in the doorway than she had initially assumed. "I'm just looking," she replied snappishly, "No law against looking, is there?"

The old man looked at her critically, "Would it stop ya if there was?"

Roxanne glared at the old man. "No," she replied crisply, "It wouldn't."

Big brown eyes analyzed her. "I thought you were that fancy miss that Scott fellow was keeping. Shouldn't that make you some sort of saint? Or are you just a gold digger?"

Roxanne snorted. Her mouth crinkled into a slight smile. "If it were that simple," she began, feeling strangely comfortable with the homeless man. At least he was getting to the point. "If you know who I am," she said, looking at the man askance as she leaned against the wall by the doorway, her face directed to the cars speeding by, "Shouldn't you be nice to me?"

The old man laughed, a strangled sound that seemed to splinter out of his frail body. "Be nice? Just cause of some story 'bout you being held against your will by an evil alien?" He snorted derisively, "Way I see it, you're just playing both sides."

Roxanne nodded. "I can see how you might see it that way," she agreed conversationally, "But I did take a side in all this."

The old man nodded, a look of defeat. "Oh missy, if you only knew half of what the Scott family got away with, all under the ever-watching eyes of the city hero…"

"Then I might want nothing more than to leave the man to blame for it all nothing but a hollow shell, empty of everything except the venomous bite of betrayal and loss, all before ending his miserable lie of a life?" A hardened edge crept into her voice, and Roxanne supposed, carelessly, that if she was to finally have a confidante, this man who's voice and opinion mattered to no one was as good as she would ever get. "There's no price too high to pay for the sweetness of revaunge," she whispered, her voice cracking on the last word. She bit down on her tongue, forcing down the pain and emptiness she felt. If only she could feel Syx through that link they were supposed to have! If only she could know he was alright. If only she could express somehow, somewhere how desperately she wanted and needed him, how deep her love ran.

"Miss Ritchie?" the voice at her side took on a very different sound.

Roxanne's gaze was on the old man within a second. "Minion?" she hissed in shock.

The old man gave her a crooked smile. "I got pretty good at impressions, huh?" he asked, brown eyes wide and warm.

Roxanne felt her face crack. She lifted a carefully manicured hand to cover her mouth and its frightful spasming between frown and smile. Her eyes felt wet. "I didn't know how to contact you," she whispered between her fingers. "I had no way to let you know…"

Minion shook his head. "I knew you'd come back here, if you… if you really cared about him at all. You'd have to." He seemed to swallow hard, "You would need this."

The illusion of wrinkled human hands pushed the dirty cloth-covered bundle into Roxanne's hip. The hand at her mouth slipped down to take hold of it. "The De-Gun?" she breathed, her eyes focused on Minion's. The old man nodded once. "Thank you," Roxanne whispered, her head shaking just slightly, "But I'll need more of your help than just this."


	27. Lionhearted

**Pale Blue Shadows**

_Chapter 27: Lion-hearted_

_The illusion of wrinkled human hands pushed the dirty cloth-covered bundle into Roxanne's hip. The hand at her mouth slipped down to take hold of it. "The De-Gun?" she breathed, her eyes focused on Minion's. The old man nodded once. "Thank you," Roxanne whispered, "But I'll need more of your help."_

In a shadowed room, two Brainbots buzzed through the air with frantic speed. Their eyes met across the room, joyful "Bowg"s arcing over the figure who worked doggedly below them. Micro-screwdrivers and mini-transistors were manipulated by deft and patient fingers.

"Whew," Roxanne exhaled heavily, leaning back in her chair as carelessly as would the man she loved. "It's done."

Forty-two hovered over her shoulder. "Bowg?" it asked, its eyes conveying confusion.

Thirty-six rose from behind the worktable, its eye scanning the thin hair clip. It was very simple, very plain, and belied the complex electronics embedded beneath the glossy veneer. "Bowg," it said calmly, nodding in approval. "Bowg."

Roxanne smiled. "I missed you guys," she murmured. "Your Daddy will be awfully glad to see you too." Thirty-six stared at her for a long moment. "Not too much longer," she replied wistfully. "I just wish I could tell you the worst was over."

* * *

><p>Late September in Metro City was glorious. The parks were alive with people enjoying the last lovely days before winter would blanket the city. The trees were bright with autumnal colour. Roxanne laughed brightly as she strolled through the park, a soft red sweater paired with a schoolgirl plaid skirt had her looking young and innocent as she dashed though the falling leaves.<p>

Strong hands caught her mid-dash and lifted her feet off the ground. Spinning round and round, Roxanne laughed freely, a wide smile on her red lips. Feet on ground once again, her body leaned upon the owner of those strong hands. "Oh Wayne," she giggled, slapping his broad chest playfully, "Its such a beautiful day!"

Tender fingers slipped beneath her chin, tilting her face upwards. "Not nearly as beautiful as you are," he told her, leaning his forehead against her own. His warm breath tickled her face as he stared down at her with loving eyes. His arms wrapped around her, lightly, ever-wary of the strength within them. "Roxie," he said softly, "You know I love you, don't you?"

Roxanne's body melted against his. "I know, Wayne," she murmured. "You know I love you too, don't you?" she smiled, her red lips curving cunningly. Their kiss was not nearly as chaste as a kiss in the park should have been.

* * *

><p>Roxanne swept her hair from her face. She had never liked long hair. She preferred it short. It was easier to work with, and really, a cute pixie cut looked so much better on her than long locks which tended to just look oppressive. In fact, something wickedly spiky and gutsy looked best of all.<p>

Wayne liked her hair long. He commented on it nearly every day, how much more he liked it now that she was growing out "that terrible short look" she'd had when he had first "rescued" her. It was almost funny, how he edited his memories so that the events that occurred made him look good, made his world make sense. Not everyone had such a gift, though. Some could only see the world the way it was. Some had to remember things exactly as they were. Roxanne didn't trust a word Wayne said about the past. The way he remembered things was inevitably wrong.

In growing frustration, Roxanne pushed her hair back again. She pulled on the wrench, gritting her teeth against the resistance. Things had to be perfect for this to work the way it was meant to. There was no way the arm of _this_ bot could be weak or damaged before it had accomplished its goal. "Minion!" she hollered across the lair, "Are the spiderbots still in working order?" Her voice held a touch of desperation. Time was wasting now. Being able to build on the plan and prepare was only making her more and more impatient.

* * *

><p>Early October meant the yearly children's hospital charity ball. Roxanne's gown was gold. She almost wished she was lying to herself when she gazed at herself in the mirror and was reminded of a Disney princess. The desire to vomit pressed upon her. Shouldn't young girls have strong, brave, tough women to model themselves after? Especially girls who would have to live with illness in their life? How did looking like a gold-frosted cupcake give an impression of a role model? Roxanne shook her head in frustration. One more hoop to jump through, she thought, steeling herself for another night of rubbing elbows with the rich and ignorant.<p>

"Roxie?" the golden voice grated against her ears. "You look lovely."

Roxanne turned on a hundred watt smile and dazzled them all.

* * *

><p>Roxanne's fingers itched against the keyboard as she watched programming codes fly past her on the screen.<p>

* * *

><p>"It's amazing how little time I have to spend as Metro Man now that everything is peaceful in Metro City," Wayne commented.<p>

"You could always take on the organized crime," Roxanne replied distractedly.

She knew she had misspoken when she felt the pressure of Wayne's gaze on her. "What organized crime?" he replied awkwardly.

"In the warehouse district," she forged on, blindly, but with necessity.

Wayne blinked. "Oh, the police have that under control." He dismissed it with a wave of his heavy hand. "They're very capable, you know."

"Capable of accepting bribes," she muttered under her breath, knowing he could still hear her and challenging him anyway.

Wayne frowned. "Why are you worrying about these things, Roxie?" he asked earnestly. "Aren't you happy?"

* * *

><p>Roxanne stroked the back of a Brainbot absently. "How do I word it to make him fall for it?" she whispered into the darkness that surrounded her.<p>

* * *

><p>The night was a wind-whipped mess. Fallen leaves cluttered the drains, causing the falling rain to swirl in the streets, flooding the roads. Roxanne walked down the hallways of the mansion, her eyes tracing the off-white walls, with their elegant trim and the gilded frames of the portraits and paintings that lined them. She wore a light, white dress, almost summery in the way it drifted around her.<p>

She paused in the doorway of the study. A wood fire roared in the hearth. Towering bookcases of books that were never read lined the walls. A heavy oak desk sat back in the room. Before the fire sat a comfortable looking armchair. Music wound itself around the room, drowning away the sounds of the wind and rain outside. The rhythm of the alternative rock melody was played out against the arm of the chair by heavy fingers.

"Why don't you play?" she asked softly, as she brought her presence into the room. It was the first time she had entered the study. They often shared dinner, but she had always gone to her own rooms afterwards. Wayne had never pressed her to stay. He was waiting for her to come to him. He wanted her to believe he was patient.

"There's too much to do," Wayne's voice was heavy with regret.

Roxanne padded softly to his side. The instrumental continued on. "What's this song called?" she asked gently.

Wayne's smile twitched. "I Will Possess Your Heart," he replied, humour creeping into his voice. Sure enough, the lyrics crept into the music.

Roxanne blushed slightly. "Any particular heart in mind?" she whispered, her voice holding a shyness that was heavy with promise.

"Only one," Wayne replied, his eyes still not meeting hers. "And the owner of it knows she's the only one."

Roxanne worried her lower lip between her teeth. Slowly, she sat down upon the arm of the chair. "Are you sure she really knows that?" she began, "Is it possible that she's been through… something that's made her a bit wary of things involving hearts and.. feelings?"

"Roxie," Wayne exhaled heavily, finally turning his head to her. "I'm trying not to push you," he had the eyes of a man consumed, "God knows, I'm trying. But super powers or not, I'm still only a man. And I know the ground that I've pressed with you is farther than I should have. And I know its too much too fast. But I'm only a man, Roxanne, and you're… you're the only woman I've ever really had eyes for. I can't… I know the only reason you've been through all the things you have is because of that. I'm the reason Megamind chose you for all his plans. He figured out a long time ago that you're my weakness…"

Roxanne pressed a single finger against his lips. "Shhh," she soothed, her finger sliding from his mouth down the strong angle of his chin. Her eyes stared deeply into his. "If none of it had happened, I probably would never have realized what I had here, with you. If none of it had ever happened, I wouldn't be here now." She smiled tenderly, "And I couldn't bear for that to be the case." With a twitch of her lips, Roxanne slide from the arm of the chair into Wayne's lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Maybe," she continued, "Maybe in some twisted way I should thank Megamind, for making me really see you. For making me realize that I belong here, with you."

Strong arms wrapped around her body, pulling Roxanne close, as if she were some sort of lifeline. "Roxie," Wayne's voice was heavy with emotion, "If you only knew how much you mean to me, how sorry I am for everything you went through…"

"Wayne," she pressed lightly against his chest, forcing him to look her in the eye. "I know you are. But it isn't your fault. And truth to be told, I'm not even sure I hold these things against Megamind, not really." She pressed on, smiling at the look of shocked incredulity in Wayne's eyes. "He's a very sick, lonely person," she said softly, "It's hard to blame him for wanting someone to love him. No one ever stopped to think that he's spent his whole life being the bad guy. He grew up in that prison, Wayne. Do you really think he could learn how to love or care for someone properly in a place like that?" She shook her head, "I'm not saying that he doesn't deserve every life sentence he's got, and I'm definitely not defending him, but I'm not angry any more. I'm only sorry for him. Truthfully, I don't even think I'm scared anymore. Not when I know I have you."

The kiss they shared then was sweeter than any they had shared yet. Roxanne melted under Wayne's touch and gave herself freely, letting his hands roam where they would.

"Wayne," she suddenly cried, her voice holding just a touch of panic. She pulled away, eyes wide and startled. She wrapped her arms around her chest protectively and trembled slightly, even though she made no move to leave his lap.

A guilty blush spread across Wayne's cheeks. "Roxie, I'm so sorry," he rushed, "I just can't… I can't help how much I want you. I love you, Roxanne. I always have."

Roxanne continued to tremble, rubbing her hands nervously up and down her arms. "I know… I… I want you too, Wayne," she replied, looking everywhere but at him. "I just… It all comes flooding back. I thought… I thought maybe since I'd come so far. since I forgive him… maybe I'd be ready…" her voice took on a tone of abject misery. "I just don't know what to do, Wayne," she sobbed, falling forward into his arms, her shaking body rubbing against his in subtle ways designed for torture.

"Shhh," Wayne murmured, rubbing circles into her back. "It's alright, Roxie, it's alright. I can wait. We can wait. As long as you need too."

"But I'm just so tired of feeling like this!" Roxanne wailed, beating her seemingly tiny fists against Wayne's broad chest. She splayed her hands across his muscles. "I want… I want so badly to get past all this. But all I have are these memories of… of seeing him and having no control…" She stifled another sob, "How do I get past that?"

She felt Wayne shift awkwardly beneath her. His heavy hands patted her back tensely. "What if…" he paused. "I can't believe I'm even suggesting this," he continued, "But what if you went to see him in prison? You'd be in control. You'd see him stuck there. Maybe you can tell him what you told me. How you think he needs help. How you're finding ways to get past all that. Ways to go on living… and… and be happy."

Roxanne stilled her sobs. She rested against Wayne's body for a long moment, as if considering. She raised her head slowly, her eyes searching out his own. "Do you… do you really think that might help?" she whispered brokenly. "Because if you think so, then… then I'd be willing to try it."

Wayne shrugged helplessly. "Women are strange creatures, Roxie," he acknowledged weakly, "It seems like the sort of backwards thing that would help in a situation like this."

"Then I'll do it," Roxanne said firmly, wiping away her tears. "I'll face him, in person."


	28. Between the Lines

**Pale Blue Shadows**

I want to say a quick thank you to everyone who has left reviews! I love the feedback – they have definitely helped fuel this rapid-update weekend. :D

_Chapter 28: Between the Lines_

_Wayne shrugged helplessly. "Women are strange creatures, Roxie," he acknowledged weakly, "It seems like the sort of backwards thing that would help in a situation like this."_

"_Then I'll do it," Roxanne said firmly, wiping away her tears. "I'll face him, in person." _

Roxanne wanted to wear blue. But really, that was just out of the question. It would beg too many questions about where her loyalty really lay. Instead, she wore a black skirt suit with a pale pink blouse beneath. She looked crisp and professional, despite the look of shell-shocked nervousness she had painted across her features. Deft fingers checked the position of the wide-banded barrette she wore to hold her now sweeping bangs away from her eyes. The barrette was whimsical, a concoction of pale pink feathers and black lace she had purchased at the local craft market on one Sunday morning trip with Wayne. She had cooed over the stall's unique wares until Wayne had offered, ever so gallantly, to buy her whichever one her heart desired.

He smiled when he saw that she wore it today.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" she whispered to Wayne as she let him lead her through the prison, tugging nervously on her skirt. She worried her lower lip between her teeth, "Maybe I should have gone with the pants suit. I feel... kinda exposed." She gazed up at Wayne with wide eyes.

He paused in his steps and turned to face her, taking her tiny hands into his large ones. "Roxie," he began, he voice deep and earnest, "You are the bravest person I know. If anyone can do this, it is you. And while I hate to send you in there with him, I think this is the best thing for you. You were always a reporter, Roxie, go use your game face." He squeezed her hands gently, their warmth penetrating through her skin.

Roxanne smiled a tiny smile. "So I should go in there all bossy-boots Roxanne Ritchie from Channel 8 news style?" she asked with a hint of amusement in her voice.

"You bet," Wayne replied, tucking a finger under her chin to angle her face upwards for a kiss. "You know you can kick his ass any day of the week."

Roxanne's eyes glittered under the fluorescent institutional lights, their gloating success barely decipherable to any not looking closely. "Alright then," she continued, straightening herself up and running hands down her jacket, "Game face it is."

The room was small and plain. Three grey walls, one with a very solid steel door, and a wall made up nearly entirely of one-way glass. Roxanne stood with Wayne and the prison warden at the glass, looking in at the slender blue being in the bright orange jumpsuit.

Megamind wore an expression of absolute boredom. Cunning green eyes sized up every molecule of the room and then dismissed them as non-useful. Each wrist was bound with its own set of handcuffs, attaching him to the metal chair he sat on. Roxanne watched him as he raised his arms slightly, testing the distance the cuffs gave him.

"He'll find a way out of those," she said finally, her voice a flat monotone.

The Warden looked at her in surprise. Apparently she had interrupted whatever the "grown-ups" were talking about behind her as she gazed upon her supposed tormentor. "I can assure you, Miss Ritchie, there is no way he will escape those. We've been using those exact pairs for the last month and he has yet to wiggle his way out of them.

Roxanne nodded, a nervous look on her face, even as her brain processed the information to calculate the probability that he had indeed found a way out but was actually being patient and waiting for a useful moment. She hoped it was the case. The math wasn't really in her favour.

A faint sensation crept through her mind at that moment. Little more than a wisp of some foreign feeling, but it clung tenaciously, demanding attention. Roxanne lifted her head and realized that Megamind was staring directly at her. Green eyes pierced impossibly through the one-way glass and into her soul. Roxanne felt her heart leap into her throat, hope soaring inside of her and pouring out across the space between them.

She watched his lips twitch into a smirk, and felt a warmth pouring into her. Feelings she had missed so desperately tumbled down the long unused link between them and Roxanne had to force the unbidden smile away from her lips. The joy inside of her leapt and twisted, meeting its mate and tumbling after it. And the love. The love washed over her, searching out its own and wrapping her heart in a blanket. It hunted out all the hatred and ice and resentment that had built itself into her soul and studied it. Compassionate eyes gazed through the glass at her. He could see her, not physically, but through their link, and whatever he had pieced together of her plan should surely be a clear image now.

"Miss Ritchie?" the Warden asked suddenly, "If you are ready?"

Roxanne tore her eyes away from Syx's, who seemed to have very suddenly discovered something fascinating to stare at on the plain, metal table's surface. She straightened her spine and nodded to the Warden. "Yes," she said firmly, "let's get this over with."

Syx greeted her with a lazy smirk as the Warden escorted her into the room. "Couldn't stay away?" he drawled, leaning back in his chair as carelessly as his handcuffed wrists would allow. "I know I'm devilishly handsome, but still, I'm flattered that you've come to see me."

The Warden gave him a furious glare. "Is that really how you greet visitors?" he snapped, his eyes dancing with suppressed rage. "You crossed a line…"

"I know, I know," Syx waved a hand dramatically, despite the handcuffs keeping it just a little below chest level, "I'm rotten to the core. A despicable monster with no respect for personal freedoms. Yada yada yada." He shrugged, "I'm bad, what can I say?"

The Warden very nearly frothed at the mouth at that. If looks could kill, the blue alien would be burning alive. Instead, he stared calmly back at the Warden, a wry smile on his lips and amusement dancing in his eyes. Roxanne pressed a hand gently against the Warden's shoulder. "It's okay," she said softly, "I'm prepared for this."

The Warden's mouth snapped shut, worried eyes gazing at her in concern. "Are you certain, Miss Ritchie?" he asked.

Roxanne smiled, "It's not as if he'll get away with much with Metro Man standing right outside the door," she replied, her voice holding light amusement. She watched the Warden's eyes widen, flashing a glance at the one-way glass behind which Wayne was standing. Everyone knew that Wayne Scott was Metro Man, few people just ever pointed it out. The carefree way she mentioned it spoke of an intimacy that many suspected but no reporters or paparazzi had been able to confirm.

The Warden nodded, escorting Roxanne to the plain chair that sat on the near side of the table, one gentlemanly hand on her elbow to guide her. "We're right outside," he repeated, an echo of her previous statement. He flashed another glare at Megamind before retreating from the room.

Roxanne watched the Warden leave, then turned her gaze upon the room's other occupant. Syx wore an expression of abject displeasure. Jealousy and insecurity flooded down the link towards her. She smiled. The one-way glass was behind her, which meant that even though what she said had to be worded very carefully, her expression didn't need to be at all guarded.

"Wayne has been helping me recover," she explained, her voice sappy and dependent in tone. "I don't know what I would have done without him to help me." She rolled her eyes theatrically, the flat frown on her face telling a very different story. She funneled her emotions down the link to him, expressing exactly how happy she was to spend so much time with her least favourite person, but also how she was pleased that it was working out this way. She had Wayne wrapped around her finger, and that was the key to both his ruin and Syx's freedom.

"Interesting," Syx said carefully, his head tilting slightly as his long fingers steepled together in consideration. His green eyes sparkled as he regarded her. "You look even more lovely than I remember, Miss Ritchie," he intoned softly, "Though the long hair doesn't do you justice."

"Wayne likes my hair long," Roxanne snapped back in reply, the anger in her eyes betraying just how strongly she agreed.

Syx leaned forward, bracing his weight on the table. "So why are you here, Miss Ritchie?" he asked, his words like snakes slithering across the table's bare surface. "I can't imagine that you miss my company that much." He gave her a slanted look, "Unless his… conversation skills leave something to be desired?"

A wave of longing ran through Roxanne, and she threw it at him. Missing him didn't even begin to describe how she felt. She felt like there was a piece of her that had been lost the second their link had been drowned out by distance between them. And his eyes said volumes about how much he missed her. The darkness in them threatened to claim her right there and then, damn whoever was watching. It was no small part of her that wanted nothing more than to let him. He could take her, right there and then. It was tempting to forget about the consequences and just slip over to his side. To ignore their audience and slither onto his lap. Truthfully, she would do anything to feel his lips on hers, his fingers on her skin, tangled in her hair. With their eyes, they were undressing each other. With a twitch of his smirk, she would be thrown against the nearest wall. Her manicured fingernails would trace wicked tracks down his back as she arched in the ecstasy only he could provide.

From outside, there was a tense silence between the two. Their bodies were stiff. Roxanne's hands were tightly balled into fists in her lap. The angle of her head suggested a desire to be elsewhere. Then suddenly, a spark of life seemed to fly into her. She straightened in her seat and seemed to give him her best reporter glare (or at least, that was what those outside imagined).

"I came here to tell you I'm sorry for you," she said finally. "And I'm sorry its taken me so long to realize that."

Syx laughed, a hearty guffaw that practically had him slapping his knees in delight. "I'm sorry, that is just too excellent," he said, leaning his head down to feign the wiping away of tears. "You are sorry for me? Sorry for what? Sorry that I am so handsome? Sorry that I am so brilliant? Sorry that no one else on this planet can begin to match me?" He laughed again, his eyes dancing in amusement, "Please go on, Miss Ritchie. Perhaps the Warden would be so kind as to get me some of that pop'ed corn so I can better enjoy this."

Roxanne seemed to grow only taller. "I'm sorry that you're alone!" she spat. "Look at you, stuck here in maximum security, with no guests, no one who cares or understands you. Not even that minion of yours. And who even knows where he is!"

Roxanne winked at him conspiratorially, sending reassurance down the link. Minion was doing just fine, back to living in the lair, tending to the Brainbots, and trying out new recipes for their celebration feasts. Oh yes, there would be many of them.

Syx smirked, crossing his arms with flourish, "Minion can take care of himself. He is an exceptionally capable fish."

Roxanne shook her head in frustration, her longer hair swinging heavily, partly dislodging the fancy barrette she wore. A simpler, plainer clip could be seen just below it, mostly covered by the lace and feathers above it. She sighed in frustration, re-affixing the barrette, a quick tap of the plainer one below it the only signal she gave that there was purpose behind the charade.

"You're not listening." She gave a long-suffering sigh, "I'm not sure why I thought you would. Why I thought this mattered at all." She glared at him, "Whatever you think you did to me, whatever power you think you have, you don't." She rose from her seat, slamming her chair back into the table. "I hope you enjoy being all alone in here, living out 90 life sentences. You deserve every single one of them! And just so you know," she pointed at him, "I'll be enjoying my life. I'll be happy."

Syx sat calmly, his gaze squarely upon her, his arms still crossed lazily. "Roxanne," he said casually, "Come here."

Roxanne flared. Her face and body now in profile to the one-way glass behind her. Her face was pink and flushed, her breast heaving with what seemed to be suppressed rage. "How dare you?" she hissed, one finger pointing directly at him as she stalked toward the alien. "How dare you? What makes you think you have any right?" Her voice was little more than a growl.

"Miss Ritchie," Syx replied smoothly, "Have I told you lately just how glorious you are when you're angry?"

Roxanne raised a hand as if to slap him, but instead found her hand captured in the surprisingly strong grasp of Syx's blue one. He had her pinned against himself, his free arm having wound its way around her, his hands having been free since before he had crossed them in front of himself. He stood now, eye to eye with her. "I'm so very glad you came, Miss Ritchie," he murmured, his voice dripping danger, "It means I can do this."

His kiss was searing. His lips attacked her mouth violently, in the very manner Roxanne so desperately craved. She struggled to keep hold of her mind, even as her heart clawed against her chest to let her reciprocate. Instead, she struggled in his hold, her captured hand wrestling against his. The smashing of glass gave her the opportunity to wrench free of his arms, even as her body begged her to do the very opposite and curl herself around him forever and for all time.

Syx let her go, running a hand through her hair as he stepped away from her, a brilliant smirk on his features. "Worth it," he chortled, ducking Wayne's fist as it flew towards him. No one even noticed the moment he palmed the plain hairclip he had pulled from Roxanne's hair.

Roxanne sighed, letting the Warden speedily lead her from the room. Behind her she heard the heavy pulpy sound of furious fists impacting flesh. "Oh no, did I do something to upset you?" Syx cackled audibly. "Perhaps I took something of yours?"

"You assaulted Roxie!" Wayne's voice was condescending and self-righteous as always. "And that's a crime!"

"But I'm already in jail," Roxanne could hear Syx continue to taunt.

She shook her head, a long-suffering expression of ruefulness on her face. "I don't know what I thought I would accomplish," she said softly, shaking her head.

The Warden patted her on her shoulder. "It'll be alright, Miss Ritchie. Believe me, I tried to help him, when I could. He's just… always been stubborn." Roxanne tilted her head to study the Warden critically for a moment. "He's too human, perhaps," the Warden confided to her, his eyes sad. "Maybe I should never have kept him here. I just didn't want him to get hurt. Instead… instead it seems I've only managed to hurt more people."

Roxanne looked at the older man for a long moment. She put a hand on his shoulder. "You did what you thought was best," she told him honestly. "You just have to remember that people make their own choices. Nothing that has happened is your fault. It's just the way the world is."

The Warden looked at her, confusion in his eyes. "But you're his worst victim," he said, "How can you find compassion in any of this?"

Roxanne shook her head. "It isn't Megamind I have to have compassion for," she replied lightly, "It's the rest of the world."

She didn't say anything else until long after Wayne had carted her back home from the prison.


	29. All In The Timing

**Pale Blue Shadows**

_Chapter 29: All in the Timing_

_Roxanne shook her head. "It isn't Megamind I have to have compassion for," she replied lightly, "It's the rest of the world."_

_She didn't say anything else until long after Wayne had carted her back home from the prison. _

Dinner was a tense affair. The Scott family mansion had a grand dining room for important affairs and functions, and a smaller, but no less imposing, dining room for family dinners. It had been several years ago now that the old Mr. Scott had passed away. Wayne's adopted mother lived in a nearby retirement home, where she passed the hours having conversations with the potted plants in her suite. Wayne spared no expense to keep her living comfortably, even if she was utterly unaware of her surroundings. It was all the family Wayne had, after all. Which normally meant that he was pleased to share his meals with Roxanne. Despite the stern faces that glared down at them, the meals eaten in that room were generally quite cheery. From the outside, looking in, one saw two people who had not only renewed their friendship, but had begun to explore something more.

Tonight, dinner was quiet. Instead of the usual conversation, the air sat heavy between the two people sharing their meal. Roxanne pushed the food on her plate around in small circles, decidedly not hungry. She missed the meals that Minion prepared. Sometimes, on the occasions she was able to find an excuse to leave and head to the evil liar, Minion would make her lunch. Few things seemed to give him as much joy as having someone enjoy the things he made. Few things gave Roxanne as much joy as eating something prepared with love, rather than something prepared because of a paycheck.

Finally, Wayne set his fork down with a heavy sigh. Roxanne looked up at him, her eyes meeting his. He seemed at war with himself. Usually he had a hearty appetite. Tonight he had eaten little more than Roxanne. There was a long moment. Roxanne put her fork down as well, pushing her plate away from her. "It's okay," she said softly, "I'm not hungry either."

Wayne shook his head, "I'm sorry, Roxie." His voice was heavy with regret. "I should have realized he'd try a stunt like that. I should never have suggested that you face him…" Roxanne watched him grind his teeth, the tendons in his jaw tightening. A heavy fist slammed against the table. "I'm sick of always having to tell you I'm sorry!" he exclaimed abruptly. "I'm tired of not being able to protect you from him!"

Roxanne stared at Wayne with absolute calm. She had seen him this way before. In what felt like a previous lifetime, she had heard him out when he expressed whatever frustrations he had. He would slam his fist on tables and yell for a little while, and then he would calm down and remember that of all the people on Earth, he couldn't get angry. Not really. Not with his powers.

In some ways, Roxanne still felt pity for him. In that past life, she had actively felt bad for him, and felt sorry for the weight on his shoulders. In this life, it was a pity for how pathetic he really was. With all his power, he had done little to better himself. He had been born into the lap of luxury, and had never tried to share that wealth. He let the organized crime, much of which fed profits back into the Scott family fortune, continue to run. He did little to widen his horizons. He rarely considered things from anyone else's perspective. There was something to pity in all that. Perhaps it was the same sort of pity a hunter felt for a severely injured animal, or a predator for old, sickened prey. But it was still pity.

Wayne looked at her with confused eyes. "How can you be so calm?" he demanded suddenly. "That… thing assaulted you. The whole way home, all night… you've been just absolutely, perfectly calm."

Roxanne felt empty at that moment. She was so tired of wearing an emotional mask. Of saying, doing, faking the opposite of what she felt. She now just felt hollow. She blinked very slowly. Normally, her brain would be racing, trying to feed her the perfect line. Tonight, there was nothing. She needed to sleep, to rest, to have a moment's reprieve in which she could unpack the moment Syx's lips touched hers and relive the feeling, without having to focus on how she _had_ to react to make this plan work.

She sighed heavily, letting her gaze fall to the crisp, white tablecloth. She spread her fingers against its starched texture. "I don't know how else to be," she said quietly. "There's just been so much. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel, right now."

"And _calm_ is your default?" he sounded incredulous. "After everything you've been through?"

Roxanne flexed her fingers, feeling the roughness of the fabric beneath her fingers. "Yeah," she replied after a long moment. "Weird, huh? You'd think I'd want to be all… Hulk-smash or be a weepy damsel in distress or... I dunno… just quit this shit and join the marines." She shook her head, "But no, calm is what I've got to work with."

Roxanne raised her gaze to meet Wayne's eyes as they gazed at her. "Think you can teach me that trick?" he asked ruefully.

The ghost of an honest smile crossed Roxanne's lips. For a moment, Roxanne could almost feel the person she had been in that last life. Could feel the life she had left behind. It was hypocritical and bland, full of compromised dreams and beliefs, lacking in passion. But it was a life. So many people in the world, all just trying to live the best they can within the means they are given. Was it a lack of vision that kept them from reaching out and taking whatever more it was they needed to make their lives mean something? Was it cowardice or maybe just laziness that sapped away the desire to accomplish something more than a not-uncomfortable survival? Was it this feeling of being just completely overwhelmed, that she felt now, in this very moment, all it took?

"I'm going to go to bed," Roxanne announced slowly, pushing her chair out from the table, "It's been a long day."

Wayne nodded absently in response, "Have a good night, Roxie."

* * *

><p>Several days passed in a similar manner. If anything, Roxanne saw less of Wayne than usual. On the night he failed to even come to dinner, she decided it was time to figure out what was going on. If there was even a chance that she had somehow given herself away, she needed to know. Plan B would have to be put into action. At least things were far enough along that Plan B could work.<p>

The hallway was dark, and even the study seemed darkened from where Roxanne stood. She stepped lightly, bare feet making barely a sound on the hardwood floors. Faintly, she could hear the dull crackle of the wood fire. The warm orange glow of reflected fire greeted her in the polished surface of the doorframe. Roxanne slipped into the open doorway and gazed into the room.

As before, Wayne sat in his armchair in front of the fire. He seemed to be staring into the fire intently. "Come in, Roxie," he said softly. "I've been wanting to talk to you."

Roxanne swallowed lightly, wondering if the game was up. She walked towards him with baited breath, exhaling slowly as he patted the arm of the chair with a heavy hand. Roxanne slid onto the chair arm, running a hand down the wider skirt of her knee-length, flowered dress. The leather of the armchair squeaked comfortingly as Wayne wrapped one arm around Roxanne's waist and angled her so that she faced him.

"Roxie," he said finally, gathering her hands into his own, "I've made a decision." Roxanne tilted her head slightly, wondering what sort of decision took Wayne several days and a missed dinner to make. Wayne ducked his head for a moment, looking oddly young despite the grey growing in around his temples. "Roxie, I've taken a look at my life, and its missing so many of the things I'd always hoped it would have. I always thought that, despite everything, one day I would find someone I could have a family with. I mean, I know there's the whole triple-stranded helix DNA thing, but I could adopt. I mean, if Brad Pitt can do it, then so can I, right?" He gazed up at her from beneath his eye lashes. "There's so many things I wanted to do. So many things I've wanted to try. I want to play the guitar, and teach my son how to play baseball, and…oh, I don't know, have family barbeques." He lifted his eyes so that he looked directly at Roxanne, "But I always thought that I had to protect the city first, and put myself second. But with Megamind behind bars for good… well, what's to stop me?"

Roxanne couldn't hold back the dropping of her jaw. "But what about when he gets out?" she heard herself say, as if from a distance.

Wayne laughed, patting her knee, "Oh Roxie, don't you think he would have gotten out of there by now, if he could? It's been nearly six months. He's never been kept behind bars that long before. Which means we've finally won. We've succeeded."

Roxanne stared at Wayne incredulously. "Well, what about the next supervillain?" she demanded.

Wayne's hand settled on Roxanne's knee, curling around it possessively. "What next supervillain, Roxie?" he asked with a smile. "Think about it, who was the last supervillain before Megamind? How often do you hear about supervillains in the international news?" He laughed, a hearty laugh that spouted from deep in his chest. "The answer, is that there aren't any!" His smile was so bright, it looked as though his face would crack. "What are the chances that two aliens land in the same city on the same day, and grow up to be the only superhero and supervillain in the world?" He shook his head, "It's almost as if it was planned, that's how small the chances are!"

Roxanne bit her tongue to keep herself from asking to see his math. He hadn't done any, she knew that. For Wayne, chances and probability were figures of speech, not calculable values. "So that's it?" she said instead, in a small voice, "You're just going to give up?"

Wayne frowned, his grip on her knee loosening subconsciously. "It's not giving up, Roxie, it's getting a chance to live a real life."

Roxanne wrinkled her nose. "You mean you don't think you've been living a real life?" she asked. "There's so many people out there who wish they could make a difference, and you have all these powers, and you're just going to… ignore the rest of the world?"

Wayne looked at her askance. "I can control my powers," he said, "I can be normal."

"But why?" Roxanne pressed. "What's wrong with being different? What's wrong with being better than normal?"

Wayne's expression softened. "Okay, I get it," he released Roxanne's knee, only to recapture her hands. "Roxanne, imagine that all your life, you've had to be someone that everyone else wanted, even needed, you to be. Wouldn't you want a break from that? A chance to just sit back and enjoy the things you have? Haven't I given enough to have earned the right to my own life?"

Roxanne bit her lip. "You have your own life, Wayne," she said softly. "There's never been anything stopping you from having someone in your life. You've never had to be lonely."

Wayne tugged on her hands lightly, pulling Roxanne into his lap. "I know that now," he told her, resting his forehead against hers. "I'm just tired, Roxanne," he murmured. "I've spent so much time giving myself away. For nothing. There's no return for the things I do. I come home at the end of the night to an empty house, an empty bed, an empty life. I just feel like its time I had some of the things that _I _want."

Roxanne swallowed the frustrated rage that threatened to spring forward. That Wayne actually felt like he had things tough, that he wanted nothing more than a life of mediocrity, to turn blind eyes on the ills of the world, to ignore the fact that of all of the people on the planet, he actually had some ability to change things; it boggled her mind. It made her longing for Syx even more biting.

Warm lips pressed a kiss to Roxanne's forehead, dragging her from her thoughts. She blinked, "That does make sense, Wayne." She nodded slowly, considerately, "I guess I never saw it that way before. I was always trying to make so many changes in the world, I guess I didn't stop to consider how hard it could be if its just expected and demanded of you."

Wayne's smile could have powered a light bulb. "I knew you would understand, Roxie," he glowed, placing a gentle kiss on her lips as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer.

For a long time, Roxanne sat curled into Wayne's arms, watching the fire eat away at the wood in the fireplace with ravenous hunger. She wanted so much more. Even with Syx at her side, neither of them had been content to just sit around. There was so much to learn, to do, to plot. Even if the world lay one day at their feet, there would still be so much to do. With Syx's brain and her burgeoning sense of purpose, there was so much they could accomplish. The people of Metrosity might be servants to an Evil Overlord and his queen, but they would ultimately be better for it. Roxanne felt a whimsical smile cross her lips as a stray thought crossed her mind. Whatever would Syx do with a city without her at his side? He'd probably have too many ideas to figure out what he really wanted to achieve. She shook her head fondly.

"What are you thinking about?" Wayne's voice was a intimate intrusion on her thoughts, which had transported her far away from him. For a moment, Roxanne felt almost suffocated, surrounded by Wayne, and on his terms, rather than her own machinations.

"What might have been," she answered coyly, "And what will still be." She smiled at him lazily, "What your adopted children might look like."

"That reminds me," Wayne said finally, "I almost forgot to tell you about the museum opening."

"Museum opening?" Roxanne parroted, confusion written across her features.

"Yeah," Wayne gave her a school-boyish smile, "That big, curtained tower they're building downtown? It's a museum they're dedicating to me."

For the second time that night, Roxanne felt her jaw drop. "Seriously?" she exclaimed, only rescuing her sarcastic tone at the last minute, twisting the word into a high-pitched squeal as she launched herself further into Wayne's arms, hiding the disgusted look on her face as she did so. "Congratulations! That's so wonderful! They're recognizing all you've done for them!" She bounced slightly in his lap, exclaiming her shared joy with all the brightness of a fake tan.

"I figure it will be a good time to break the news too," Wayne said, folding his arms behind his head and leaning back, his eyes watching her closely.

"You mean about your retirement?" Roxanne asked breathlessly.

"Yeah," Wayne smiled, gazing at her with warm eyes. "The timing seems right. It's planned for November 5th. Six months since Megamind got locked up for good."

Roxanne's eyes clouded over for a moment, her brain pouncing on the idea and squealing over it. She blinked slowly, gazing up at Wayne from behind her lashes. "That does sound like simply wonderful timing."

The plan had officially come to fruition.


	30. Final Preparations

**Pale Blue Shadows**

_Chapter 30: Final Preparations_

_Roxanne's eyes clouded over for a moment, her brain pouncing on the idea and squealing over it. She blinked slowly, gazing up at Wayne from behind her lashes. "That does sound like simply wonderful timing."_

_The plan had officially come to fruition. _

"Miss Ritchie!" Minion exclaimed as she breezed into the Evil Lair.

"The fifth," Roxanne exclaimed, pouncing upon her favourite screwdriver as she strode confidently up to SpiderBot Omega. "On the fifth, they're having a museum dedication to Metro Man. Everyone will be there. It'll be Wayne's crowning moment." She flashed a wicked smile at Minion, "And he's announcing his retirement."

Minion's eyes widened to a comic point. "No!" he gasped, "He can't retire!"

Roxanne waved her screwdriver haphazardly, "I know, right? It's like he has absolutely no sense of destiny!" She flipped open a panel and frowned, twisting certain wires and keying in access codes as she picked up where she had left off in her programming. "That's why," she continued, her eyes glued to the miniaturized coding screen, "We'll have Syx make his entrance at the very end of that speech. Smash his bubble."

"Pop his bubble," Minion murmured softly, a quizzical look in his eyes. His fins waved gently for a long moment as he processed the new information Roxanne had provided. "Wait," he stilled, "The fifth is three days from now!"

"Exactly why we've gotta get these Bots going!" Roxanne chortled gleefully from somewhere behind SpiderBot Omega.

* * *

><p>The plan was all about timing. Time would be the deciding factor. Time was something Roxanne suddenly had too little of, after feeling for months and months that she'd had too much.<p>

There was the time needed to properly prepare the control centre, based right in the comfy cozy surroundings of the Evil Lair. There was the time needed to ensure that the SpiderBots, the BrainBots, and the only recently finished, GiantBot, were not just functional, but had working back-up systems, remote connections to the control centre, and real-time updating to the GiantBot and to Roxanne's remote location communicator (her RLC, as she had taken to calling it).

Minion had his fair share of tasks as well, from gaining access to the outgoing systems at the prison (an easier task now that all the computer systems were offline), to creating new costumes. Roxanne's would have to be concealable beneath the sweet little dress she was to wear. Thank goodness the chill November winds demanded tights. At least with her legs covered Minion had _something_ to work with.

The afternoon of November 4th, Roxanne sat in front of the control centre, running through fail safes and final communication checks. Her eyes flashed from screen to screen, pressing the larger buttons that controlled the various functions and views. Ninety-five sat nestled into a hollow built into the console, its tentacles waving wildly as it monitored the subsystems. Eighty-seven floated around the entire set-up, a set of micro-tentacles twitching, prepared for any minor repairs to the miniaturized hardware that may be required. Unlike Syx, Roxanne took no chances. She held the firm belief that a woman made her own luck. Every large bot in the field would be accompanied by a BrainBot outfitted with the ability to conduct micro-repairs and on-the-spot reprogramming. Back-up communications were installed on all Bots. Several of the BrainBots carried back-up communications to the back-up, just in case Roxanne's RLC or the GiantBot lost communication. There was a team moving into play at tomorrow's celebration. And Roxanne had somehow drawn the straw of team captain, even as she delegated the control centre to Minion.

She nodded at Ninety-five, "You ready for this?" she asked the Bot seriously.

"Bowg," it replied, calmly waggling a tentacle at her.

Roxanne smiled and turned to Minion. He stood beside her, wide eyes taking in the completed control centre. His fins waved slowly, his toothy grin fallen open into a look of gracious surprise. "You made the… you made the buttons big enough for my great big gorilla fingers!" he exclaimed finally, blinking hard.

Roxanne laughed, standing up and drawing her friend into a wide hug. His mechanized body was huge, but the faux fur that covered him was surprisingly soft. "Minion," she murmured, her face buried somewhere in the fur, "I couldn't have done any of this without you. I need you. Syx needs you. Of course I made the buttons the right size!" Her voice was on the verge of breaking as she pulled back, staring up at the loveable fish. "We're going to get him back tomorrow," she breathed, a hint of tears in her eyes.

Minion continued to blink hard, even as his mouth bent into a wide smile. "And it's about time, Miss Ritchie. I have all those new recipes he needs to try!"

Roxanne laughed again, feeling remarkably light-hearted. Suddenly, she could understand Syx's ridiculous energy and brightness before a plan was executed. "And just wait until he sees his new costume," she purred up to Minion, an indulgent smile on her lips.

"The Black Mamba," Minion hissed dramatically, his eyes staring dreamily into space. "It's my most ambitious project yet!"

"And it's a keeper," Roxanne agreed, leaning up and planting a quick kiss on the side of Minion's bowl. Minion's jaw dropped once more, a pink blush rising across his scales. Blind to all but the fierce, wicked joy in her heart, Roxanne spun away from her companion.

"Now," she sighed heavily, "I just need to try to contain all this energy until tomorrow!"

_I know its short, but I feel like Roxanne's plan should really fall into its own chapter… and yes, that is the next chapter. *wicked grin *_


	31. Showtime

**Pale Blue Shadows**

_Chapter 31: Showtime_

The plan worked like this:

At 0400, the SpiderBot platoon would use their stealth technology, a recent descendent of the invisibility technology, to get into their positions around the prison and elsewhere.

At 0800, the city staff would be completing the set up for the day's celebrations. Roxanne would be preparing for her duties as Metro Man's plus one. That is, she had to look good – as in, damn good. Of course, the fact that she would be seeing Syx may help make that all very doable.

At 1000, a number of BrainBots would begin infiltrating the city square.

At 1200, all out-going communications at the prison would be shut down. It would take prison staff approximately half an hour to realize this. After all, they didn't often have reason to make outgoing calls. But eventually, someone would try to make a call on their cell phone… only to discover that there was no signal. At first, it would be brushed off as a fluke. Only, soon enough, staff all over the building would begin realizing that none of their providers was working, and that the internet on their phones was dead too. Eventually, someone would pick up a landline, only to realize that was dead too. At this point, the Warden would become aware of the problem and would attempt to send a message via fax. It too, would fail. Approximately three minutes would pass before the Warden realized the importance of today's date, and exactly how much trouble they were all in.

By 1300, everyone in the city would have found some opportunity to leave their desks. No one would be paying much attention to anything but the growing sense of excitement in the downtown core, as the band in the city square began to play and the food vendors and refreshment tents began to fill.

At 1300, Roxanne would be one of the first to visit the official Metro Man museum. Her knee-length dress would be white, with gold trim at the bottom, waist, and along the top of the sweet heart neckline. She wore knee-high soft grey boots with a chunky heel, and if a sliver of what appeared to be black tights showed above the boots and below the dress, well, it was chilly, and the wind was rather brisk that day.

At exactly 1300:00, six SpiderBots would begin a concerted attack against the prison, shedding their stealth shields and causing the prison to go from alarmed concern to all out panic in less time than it had taken the Warden to realize that trouble was afoot. The attack was straightforward enough, with two SpiderBots intent on holding the front gates, while the other four smashed their way into the prison complex, attacks focused on doorways and lookout positions.

At 1315, when the panic, confusion, and control fire of the SpiderBots' lasers held the prison in complete chaos, the GiantBot would reach Objective A.

"And not just yet. But a little bit more. Just a few more seconds…"

"Code: When is the giant robot slamming its fist into my cell wall, Minion?"

"Approximately five, no, no, there's another wall, Sir. One moment, its recalculating."

"Recalculating?"

"Yes, Sir. Miss Ritchie's pretty ingenious with these things. Ahh, it's exactly ten seconds."

"She is pretty amazing, isn't she, Minion?"

"Truly, Sir. By the way, Sir? It's really nice to talk to you again."

"Same to you, Minion. Same to you."

By 1320, Syx should be able to insert the manual bypass chip into the GiantBot, switching all systems over to his control. At that point, Minion would have full communication capability, rather than the temporary power of the mini-communications device Roxanne had embedded into the hair clip with the manual bypass chip. It was then that Syx would be filled into the rest of the plan. Roxanne could only hope that he would honour the timing.

At 1400, a team of BrainBots, led by Thirty-Six were to intercept the GiantBot, providing Syx with the opportunity to get into proper costume. After all, what kind of supervillain made an appearance in prison orange?

At 1430, the tour of the new museum would be winding down, much to Roxanne's relief. There was only so long one could stare at a used cape or a diorama of Metro Man beating the snot out of Megamind before a girl found herself resisting the urge to grind teeth and direct catty remarks at the exceptionally dull and monotone museum curator designated to give the tour. The supposed "expert" on all things Metro Man and Megamind had a shockingly two-dimensional view of the whole situation. Though he would be momentarily wide-eyed when he shook her hand. "What was it like?" he would ask, "Being the captive sex slave of an intergalactic refugee?" Roxanne had plans for this man's future career in the new management structure of Metrosity.

At 1445, Wayne would be giving himself a pep talk. Various lines from his speech would be practiced, discarded, and then reapplied. It was a terrible speech, but the crowd would go wild for it, as they did for every piece of hypocritical shit that fell from Metro Man's mouth.

At 1503 (because, let's face it, city functions were always off by a few minutes), the opening chords to an over-played Elvis Presley song would signal Metro Man's entrance to the grand stage. The giant curtain over the museum would fall, revealing the fantastic multi-million dollar investment the city had made into preserving its… heritage. Roxanne would allow herself a small smirk at this point, knowing that things were coming together nicely. Inside, she would feel only pure, unadulterated joy, because the small alarm signaling Syx's successful escape would have gone off, pulled only a little late by Minion from the control centre.

At that point, things would play out more fluidly, signals given as events played out. Everything was ultimately in Minion's hands, orchestrated with finesse from the control centre.

Roxanne grinned painfully as Wayne juggled babies, her eyes twitching at the insanity of a populace that would cheer at such a thing. It was as if they had completely missed her special report on Shaken Baby Syndrome two years ago. Finally, he tossed the helpless children back into their mother's arms and floated (literally, floated), over to the Mayor, where he accepted the microphone. "Yeah, Metro City!" he cried into the microphone, leading the greater half of the city in a self-indulgent cheer, all the while floating out over the shallow pool that sat in the centre of the square. It may all be part of the choreography for the event, but Roxanne found it just a little vomitious that anyone anywhere would think it clever to have Metro Man literally _walk on water_.

"Thank you, thank you," he acknowledged the crowd's wild applause, raising his free hand as if to calm the masses, but instead egging them on into another round of cheering and adulation. "I need to be straight with you, Metro City. This," he turned slightly, gesturing to the museum, "Is an amazing honour. I really love you guys."

"And we love you!" the crowd parroted back. "I love you Metro Man!" cried one voice. "I'll have your babies!" called another.

For a moment, a confused look crossed his face, but it was quickly brushed aside. After all, he had a speech to get through. He smiled and nodded, raising his hand to quiet the crowd yet again, "Although getting a whole museum is super-cool," he continued, "Do you want to know what the greatest honour you've given me is?" The cheers from the crowd rose again. "Do you really want to know?" Metro Man played the crowd like a pro. "Really?" he asked again, that bright, boyish smile plastered across his face. "I'll tell you," he said finally, amidst all the noise and celebration. "The greatest honour you've given me is letting me serve you, the helpless people of Metro City."

Helpless, Roxanne thought in echo, her slender fingers tracing the features of her RLC gently. Looking like little more than a delicate, silver watch, the RLC vibrated softly against her skin. There were messages traveling back and forth across the airwaves she had appropriated for them. She kept the RLC muted, terrified that she might lose all reason if she heard Syx's voice now.

"But there comes a time," Metro Man continued, "When every man needs to look at his life. Needs to consider that there is more to living than impossible goals and dreams. Needs to take some time to focus on the simple things, like family." The crowd fell into a hush, scattered "aww's" rocking a populace held in awe. "I don't think there's anyone in this city who doesn't know my secret identity," he winked widely at the crowd. "Oh, you've all been great about it," he soothed, "But I know you know, and now you know that I know that you know." The crowd stared at him in silence born mostly out of confusion. "Megamind," he paused for the chorus of boo's, "Has been securely behind bars for six months. Six months! That's the longest we've ever held him!" The city cheered. "And that makes me think that this time, it's for good."

Roxanne scratched her shoulder impatiently. The itching desire to prove Wayne wrong, to smash in his world view, to destroy all he thought he had, was crawling up and down her spine.

"So," he continued, his expression serious, "It's with a heavy, but hopeful, heart, that I announce my retirement as Metro Man." The crowd was so silent, one could hear a pin drop. "I think, that it's time I get a chance to play the part of Wayne Scott." The crowd stared at him, wide-eyed and shocked. The superhero nodded, accepting their surprise, and then moving on from it. "You see," he began, "There's this girl."

Suddenly, Roxanne found every eye in the city square on her. She'd had a suspicion that he'd do this. In fact, she'd had a rather painful hope that he would. It would make this whole day that much sweeter. She pressed the tiny red button on her RLC as she rose from the chair the Mayor had waved her into upon Wayne's entrance to the stage. She waved to the crowd, who alternated staring and glaring at her, the woman who dared to take their superhero away from them.

"There's this girl," Wayne repeated, his eyes suddenly on her as well. "This totally amazing, beautiful girl," his voice nearly shook. "And I've had the chance to spend nearly every day of the last six months with her. And you know what?" he shook his head, "She just keeps getting more and more amazing."

The crowd below her began to soften their gazes, taking in her dress, which so closely matched their hero's costume. Roxanne smiled awkwardly, her fingers itching to turn the RLC, which was vibrating nearly constantly now, off of mute. Dealing with Syx's unpredictability was causing her to break into a light sweat. Who knew when he would burst into the scene? God help him if he made her wait until after…

"Which is why," Wayne continued, floating toward her now, "I have a very big question to ask her." The entire crowd seemed to be holding their breath. Roxanne plastered a tense smile on her face. "Roxanne Ritchie," Wayne began, kneeling on bended knee just below the stage on which she stood, "Would you make me the happiest super-man on this planet, and marry me?"

Roxanne twitched, her fingers flying from the RLC to her ring finger, where she gave a quick twist. "There's a small problem with that, Wayne," she replied, her voice carrying in a way it absolutely should not. Unless, of course, she just happened to be wearing a tiny microphone with a remote signal that had been instantly patched into the city's speakers. "You see," she began, slipping the sleeves of her dress off her shoulders as she walked forward on the stage, "I'm already engaged." She let the dress drop to the stage, revealing a sleeveless, skin-tight, black leather body suit. In two steps, she had kicked her way out of the grey boots, wickedly spiked black leather emerging in their place. Nasty stiletto heels pulled their way out of the hollowed out space inside the chunky heels of the grey boots.

The look on Wayne's face was priceless. Confusion mixed with shock, coupled with just a hint of lust. "Roxie," he whispered, his voice hushed, "Is this some kind of joke?" his voice held the trace of humour.

"I'm afraid not," a sleek voice cut darkly through the events. Roxanne felt leather-clad hands wrap themselves around her shoulders, attaching a deep blue cape to her back, with what mechanism, Roxanne wasn't even certain. Roxanne wrapped her hands around Syx's, pulling him from behind her as she did a little half twist. The pair stood in profile to the crowd, which was still and silent. "Dear Metro Mahn," Syx sneered, his eyes never leaving Roxanne's, "You cannot have what is mine."

Roxanne smiled, throwing her arms around him with enough force to make Syx take a step or two backwards. "I've missed you," she whispered into his ear, her heart-felt words picked up by the microphone she still wore.

Syx took a half-step away from her, his arms still comfortably wrapped around her. "Not nearly as much as I've missed you, Temptress," he replied softly, claiming her lips in a searing kiss that had half the crowd's jaws dropping.

"No!" Wayne's voice cut through the moment like steel. "I will not let you take advantage of her again!" Roxanne parted from Syx regretfully. "I don't know how, but you've brainwashed her, again!"

Roxanne shook her head, the gentle smile of a woman in love gracing her features as she turned to Wayne, where he now floated, his white cape flying out behind him. "I'm not the one who's been taken advantage of, Wayne," she said softly, her quiet words thrown across the crowd by the speakers positioned so carefully to maximize sound quality, "You are."

Wayne stared at her, confusion written ever deeper across his features. "I don't… Roxie, what are you saying?"

Roxanne winced, one hand reaching around her lover's waist. Slender fingers pulled the De-Gun from Syx's belt, and twisted it. "I'm saying," she took a few steps forward, "That I _hate_ being called Roxie." She angled the gun at Wayne's face. "Also," she said, her face a mask of hatred, "This time, it doesn't take so fucking long to charge."

The crowd gave a collective gasp. Somewhere behind her, Roxanne knew Syx was smirking, dark satisfaction pouring off of him in waves.

"You've been… planning this?" Wayne's voice trembled. "All… all along?"

Roxanne's smirk hardened. "All a-fucking-long, sweetie," she ground out, the gun giving a soft whirring click in her hands.

"And just think," Syx's voice began from behind her, "All of you, Metrosity's gentle people, have been blindly following a man too blind to realize that he's about to propose to the woman who's been plotting to kill him." His tone was biting. "All of you have been content to follow him, like sheep. He has made you weak, complacent. And he was planning on leaving you today. To struggle on by yourselves. Just think, he's retired. I am not."

Roxanne's trigger finger itched. Wayne's face was a painting in despair and humiliation. It would almost be worth letting him live, knowing that he would have to carry this moment within him forever. He would have to relieve this pain, this shame – all of his flaws and shortcomings now being dissected in detail by the blue alien he had spent so many years knocking down.

Syx continued on, a soliloquy that, for once, no one dared to interrupt. "Have you all forgotten than this city is still rotten at its core? Are you all blind to your so-called warehouse district? To the crime that has only ever been looked over and forgotten by your hero?" His green eyes flashed, finally getting the chance to call the citizens of Metrosity into account. "There is a reason I call your city Metrosity – its because it _is_ an atrocity. You cannot expect someone else to come and solve all your problems. Because they will not. They will solve their problems. And when they are done, you will be left worse off than before. And of course," Syx growled, "You all seem to forget, time and again, that I am not the only alien on this planet."

Human eyes swung from the obvious "other" to the one who had been their hero for so very long. Here, in this moment, he was revealed to be weak, foolish, easy to manipulate, and worst of all, ready to give up on them. He wasn't human, they remembered, despite his very human-like features. But then again, perhaps that hair was too perfect. Maybe that face was just a little too chiseled. Perhaps the ability to fly, to shoot lasers from eyes, to hear a pin drop from ten miles away… maybe that was unnatural. Maybe no man should have super-strength. How could he expect to just disappear into the crowd? If he was an alien, didn't that mean that he didn't really belong? Why then, should he get to live a life of wealth and comfort? Why, when there were humans, native to this planet, who did not have such an advantage?

Roxanne leveled her gaze at Wayne. The SpiderBot platoon simultaneously dropped their stealth shields. Alpha through Omega towered over the edges of the crowd. A swarm of BrainBots gathered around each one. The GiantBot appeared behind the stage, a heavy arm smashing through the stage's background, pausing at Syx's side. He swung up onto the arm as it began to lift, depositing him into the cockpit-like controls.

"So what'll it be, Wayne?" Roxanne rumbled, "Can you take on all this? Will you bother to try?"

The crowd stared at the exchange, judgment in their eyes and ice in their hearts. They were all slaves to a good show.


	32. Parallel

**Pale Blue Shadows**

_Chapter 32: Parallel_

"_So what'll it be, Wayne?" Roxanne rumbled, "Can you take on all this? Will you bother to try?"_

_The crowd stared at the exchange, judgment in their eyes and ice in their hearts. They were all slaves to a good show. _

"And that's going to kill me?" Wayne asked softly, his feet settling firmly onto the stage in front of Roxanne. His eyes sought hers out, a strange, calm acceptance settling upon his features. He shook his head slowly, "When have any of his inventions ever worked? And even if it did, do you really think it will work on me?"

Roxanne smiled sadly. "But he isn't the one who invented this setting," she said softly, "I did." A few of her long, dark tresses flew loose, the chill November wind racing its way past the two figures standing upon the broken stage, catching in their capes and setting them aflutter. The moment was stretching too long, too thin, and Roxanne wondered what exactly had happened to make her the one standing in final showdown with Metro Man. Shouldn't it be Syx standing here? Or was this how it was supposed to end? The gun trembled slightly in her bare hands.

Was a human supposed to reject the superhero? Had Syx's role, all along, been to inspire someone, anyone, to stand up for humanity, with their limited intelligence, limited strength, and exceptional variety? Had it always been destined to come down to this? The conclusion of a life-long power struggle that had engulfed the city resting on her shoulders?

* * *

><p>If you believe, as some physicists do, that there are innumerable universes somewhere out there, all running parallel to ours, then you know that there are many other worlds. You know that there is at least one world where Roxanne does not fire the gun in her hands. In point of fact, there are many.<p>

In one world, Roxanne emerges from her thoughts with a shake of her head. She looks out across the crowd. She sees children, parents, families. She sees their expressions of shock, confusion, fear. She feels detached from all these things. She wonders, dimly, if she will ever feel at home with her own species again. She suspects that she is too far gone, that Syx and her have bonded too deeply, making her just too much _other_. She looks at the crowd, at their too-human faces. She doesn't want to be the bad guy anymore. She realizes she never really did.

Roxanne lowers the gun. Her hand shakes only slightly, as she feels the pressure of Syx's eyes on her back. "Go," she says softly. She hears the collective gasp rise from the crowd in front of her. She feels Syx's curiosity rising in her own mind and heart. She tunes all of it out. Somehow, this feels like the only path she can take. Intimidation and bluster aside, she doesn't really want anyone dead. Not now, with the moment at hand. Her hurt was emotional, and she's already dealt out a hearty serving of that.

She turns her icy blue eyes to Wayne. "Go, enjoy your retirement," she tells him. Her voice is flat against her ears. His eyes widen in confusion and disbelief. For a moment, she isn't certain that she means what she says either. Instead, she hears herself quietly blunder on, "We'll take things from here. You know they don't really care who's in charge, and neither of us ever killed anyone on purpose."

Wayne stares her uncertainly. The sadness and betrayal in his eyes are now clouded with an extra dose of shock. "But… Roxy… Roxanne…" he stumbles over his words. He doesn't know what he wants to say. Getting what you want can be a double-edged sword.

"Go," Roxanne urges, more forcefully. Her hand is still tight on the gun, even as it hangs limply at her side. "They don't really need you and you're sick of this. Go now, while you can."

The look in Wayne's eyes turns grateful and Roxanne wonders if she was always so soft. If her revenge was always so empty. Mostly, she wonders at the fact that she _knows,_ in no uncertain terms, that she would feel just as empty if Wayne was dead.

* * *

><p>In the next world over, Roxanne's glare is hard as she trains her weapon on Wayne. She hates this man with every fiber of her being, and Syx's hate bolsters her own. A part of her screams to pull the trigger, but another part is enjoying the look on Wayne's face just far too much to end this moment. His face is a tableau of destruction. She has demolished every last belief inside of him. Torn him apart with his only true weakness: his petty, self-absorbed emotions, that never could fathom the possibility of complete and utter rejection.<p>

His expression is vulnerable, and Roxanne revels in this feeling of power over him. For so many months, she has pretended at love and affection. Releasing her true feelings is a heady elixir. She wants to turn around and drag Syx close. She wants to fuck her alien lover into the stage. She wants them all to watch. She wants them all to burn with fear and shame and morbid curiosity. She wants to rip Wayne apart just that little bit further before she pulls the trigger of the De-gun and shreds the very particles of his being.

Suddenly, she loses that feeling. Wayne's expression has hardened. From somewhere inside of him, he has called out some hidden reservoir of strength. He meets her icy glare and stands just a little taller. "Do it," he tells her, his voice calm and strong. He has no fear left. There is nothing left for the woman in front of him to take. "Do it," he repeats, his voice an urgent hiss, "End my misery."

Roxanne blinks in surprise. His challenge has been issued, and his desires made clear. She knows he is tired. He told her as much in admitting his plan to retire. He is tired of the fighting, of the expectations, of the pain which he feels, even if it is mostly imagined. He _wants_ an ending. When he had her, it was to be a happy ending. Without her, he will settle for any ending. Good or bad, doesn't matter now. He is as empty as he will ever be.

Roxanne's smirk widens. His glare tightens. He thinks he has taken away her power. She knows he has only given her more.

Roxanne's finger slides away from the trigger. "No," she announces. "No, I will not kill you, Wayne Scott. Because that would be too easy. You want to be done. You want to be able to give up and leave the _helpless_ citizens of Metrosity to fend for themselves." She can feel the crowd bristling at her words. Their ire is inspired. They didn't want him to retire, and now, now he wants to leave them entirely. Rejection always births scorn.

Roxanne smirks as the people of Metrosity turn against their hero. He does not yet know it, but he has _so_ much further to fall. She feels Syx poking around in her head, reading her dark and filthy thoughts. He sweeps up behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist. "My love," he whispers into her ear, his violently green eyes focused on the mammoth-sized man before them, "My thoughts exactly."

Roxanne is filled with love for the man beside her. Together, they will deconstruct the city's hero as carefully and attentively as they constructed the bots which surround them. It will be a study in violence and degradation. They have both come to know those so well. It is time that they share their knowledge.

* * *

><p>Somewhere, on the ever-expanding edges, there is a world where Roxanne holds the De-gun with much less certainty. Here, Roxanne gazes at Wayne with regret. Her time with him held some fraction of comfort. She remembers a night spent in front of the glowing warmth of a fire. A night in which she had been held tenderly and carefully by arms with an almost inconceivable strength. She remembers feeling some measure of redemption in those arms.<p>

In this world, her bond with Syx is not so strong. She still has space to wonder where he ends and she begins. She has had the space and time to ask herself when she first began to lose herself to her always cunning captor. She has the luxury of wondering whether this infection of self might have begun much longer ago than she wants to believe. She has the ability to step away from her feelings and question just how much of that turbulent sea of emotion is hers and how much is his, and his alone.

She has never hated anyone. Not the way she has hated Wayne. The way she has hated the people of Metro City. And all this hate has only rested in her heart and soul since that night when Syx came to her, only hours after the accident that changed her life. It was as if he had known, or perhaps, and she does not want to, but her reporter's heart must follow this thought to its end, as if he had planned it.

If he had planned it, then all of this is by his design. A design more devious and controlled than she could have guessed at before knowing him as well as she does now. From the corner of her eye, she can see Syx. He is standing just to the side of her, his expression calm as he watches her train the gun on his lifelong enemy. She can feel him rejoicing through their emotional link. She can feel him admiring her, her will, her actions, her body. She can feel the underlying hum of success. Of years of work and planning coming to fruition. For a moment, she feels as if she is his greatest creation. Constructed just as his robots have been.

Roxanne has enough of herself left to wonder how much of herself will remain if she stays with Syx. He is larger than life. She is only human. In the end, he will be what commands and she will be little more than a shell of herself. Already, Roxanne cannot tell how much of _Roxanne_ is left. She wonders how long she will have before she becomes little more than an extension, a willing slave to his thoughts and desires. Roxanne realizes now that she walked herself into this corner, this space between two men who long ago compromised her ability to be her own woman. The only question left to ask herself is which man will cause her actions to be those she will one day regret.

In this world, Roxanne swallows hard and looks up at Wayne with blue, blue eyes that beg forgiveness. "I'm sorry," she mouths, her expression one of regret and recognition of wasted time.

Roxanne turns from Wayne, redirecting the gun into the only possible path left open to her. She has been a pawn in this city-wide chess game between aliens for far too long. She presses the trigger and has only a moment to register the shock and betrayal on Syx's face as he watches her in disbelief. His eyes are comically wide, even as his expression collapses into one of anguish.

Then, Roxanne has no choice but to close her eyes. The pain is far too intense as it arcs through her, ripping away at the bonds between particles. When this is all over, nothing will remain but a slight trace of blood splatter and the molecular batter that comprises human kind. It will be mostly water. There will be nothing left to bury. She wonders briefly, in the milliseconds before her neurons are dismantled by the electric force of the De-stroy setting, what Wayne and Syx will put on her gravestone, or if they will bother to put one up, seeing as how that would take time away from their fighting and feuding.

* * *

><p>In this world though, Roxanne holds the gun level. She faces Wayne and absorbs his defeated expression. "I win," she murmurs as she pulls the trigger.<p> 


	33. Rejection

**Pale Blue Shadows**

I apoligize that this chapter is so short. But it's the darkest piece I've ever written, and it has a very natural breaking point. I'll try to post up the next chapter quickly to make up for this one being so short. And while I can't see things getting much darker than this, I make no promises.

_Chapter 33: Rejection_

_Was a human supposed to reject the superhero? Had Syx's role, all along, been to inspire someone, anyone, to stand up for humanity, with their limited intelligence, limited strength, and exceptional variety? Had it always been destined to come down to this? The conclusion of a life-long power struggle that had engulfed the city resting on her shoulders?_

_In this world though, Roxanne holds the gun level. She faces Wayne and absorbs his defeated expression. "I win," she murmurs as she pulls the trigger. _

Roxanne laughs when Wayne instantaneously leaps from the stage, dodging the weapon's blast. She watches the vicious bolt of energy slam into a flagpole over a hundred feet away. The metal hisses and seems to almost melt, except that no liquid forms. It is as if the metal evaporates into the air around it, all in the space of a few seconds. The crowd stares at the place where the flagpole used to be and collectively gasps. There is a long moment before the first scream rends the air.

Suddenly, the SpiderBots are full of purpose. With deft movement, the SpiderBots block the exits to the square. Roxanne wants an audience, and while she would have preferred they be captivated, she will willingly settle for _captive_. Behind her, she can feel the wave of admiration rise from her alien lover, he's taught her everything she knows, after all.

"Wayne," she cries out in amusement, her blue eyes glittering wickedly in the sunlight. "I thought you weren't afraid?"

From above, Wayne stares down at her uncertainly. "You've gone mad," he says finally, his voice betraying the confusion he feels. He doesn't know what to do, blindsided as he is. There is no way he could have prepared for this, and he still can't quite accept that today has turned out the way it has.

Roxanne can read him like a book. She lifts the gun again, her eyes lining up the next shot. The gun is capable of firing over a dozen times before needing recharging. And if that fails, well, she may have equipped the GiantBot with a similar weapon. She knows that she will triumph today. By the time the sun sets, Metrosity will belong to her.

Which is just as well, because she knows that Syx would ultimately have no idea what to do with an entire city. He's too absorbed in his own pursuits to worry about running the lives of others.

Roxanne licks her lips, firing the gun at Wayne a second time. He swerves to avoid the bright flash, nerves betraying themselves in the creases at the corner of his mouth and eyes. The blast disappears somewhere into the atmosphere above him, and he half-turns to follow its path. He may be the only one present who consciously questions where it will end up and what damage it will ultimately do. Roxanne is too far gone to care. The bloodlust is blinding her to reason. The darkness in her heart rising, swamping all logical thought.

"Roxanne," Wayne begs softly, his face a mask of horror and fear.

Roxanne throws her head back and laughs. She feels completely untouchable. The crowd beneath her has frozen, paralysed with fear – fear of the Bots, yes, but mostly with fear of her. But there is not just fear, Roxanne can feel them watching the scene unfold. She can feel them straining to see. Wanting to see how a human can fare against an indestructible alien. Wanting, somewhere down deep within them, to see her win.

"Go on!" a voice cries from somewhere out in the crowd. "Do it!"

Wayne's gaze flickers downward, staring almost blindly into the masses of humanity. He looks unaccountably dismayed. Did he really believe that everyone loved him so completely that they would always remain on his side? Roxanne snickers, adjusting her grip on the weapon in her hands.

"Come on, Roxanne!" another voice cries, whistling.

"Show him we aren't so helpless!" encourages another.

Roxanne's wicked smirk spread into a grin. "Hear that, Wayne?" she calls tauntingly. "It seems that your beloved citizens aren't all on your side after all." She flashes her grin at the crowd. "So tell me," she calls out, "Who of you just shows up to these things to see two aliens fight?"

A wild cry rises up from a small number of people in the crowd. A cry that becomes a slow murmur of assent. Roxanne's grin widens. "It's pretty entertaining, really," she continues, "But aren't some of you getting just a little tired of it all? The destruction of the city, the continuous feeling of being helpless, of being held hostage in your city? On your own planet?"

The crowd screams for her, and Roxanne is intoxicated with it. She has been so long without the approval of her own people. Somewhere, deep down, she can feel Syx's presence. He is tugging at her, insistently pressing, demanding to know what her plan is, when this is doing nothing to make him look good. She smiles, half-turning to toss him a lazy wink.

"When you all turned on me," she tells the crowd silkily, "I was accused of having both hero and villain alike wrapped around my finger. It was suggested that I was the one orchestrating all the battles, the kidnappings, the stories." She smiles bitterly at the crowd, "It took me awhile to get over the betrayal, but I finally got it. It wasn't your worst fears you projecting, it was your hopes, your dreams. You wanted a human to be the one behind it, because it would give us, as a species, back our power, and our place as the most powerful beings in this universe."

Syx has joined Wayne in confusion at this point. She can actually feel the two aliens making eye contact somewhere above her. A jolt of uncertainty runs down her link with Syx. He's nervous. Wayne is nervous. And the crowd of humanity in front of her is in love with it.

"So," she continues, strolling to the edge of the stage and clasping her hands angelically in front of her. "I did exactly what you wanted me to do. I figured out how to wrap two immensely powerful aliens around my finger. I orchestrated a final showdown. And now," she smiled at the crowd, "I ask you," she pauses for effect, "_Do you still want a hero?_"

The crowd is suddenly alive with mutterings and murmurs. Above her, Roxanne feels Wayne sag, shocked that his beloved masses are considering his demise. Syx is a statue behind her, resignation funneling down the link towards her. Somehow, somewhere along the line, despite his larger-than-life presence, she has become the dominant partner in this. He has accepted that she's taken control of this outfit in his absence, and _she's good at it_. Better than he ever was. In his ear, Minion is feeding him potentialities, telling him that it looks like Roxanne has selected Plan C, but to be prepared for a switch to Plan Q, if things go south. Syx barely has the heart to ask what Plan Q is. He never got past planning Plan A. He can sense that he has been relegated to research and design, support and consultation. He's disappointed that he won't be the centre of attention. On the other hand, he is nearly as tired as Metro Man is, and truth be told, he had no idea what to do with a city.

The crowd has decided, and Wayne is pale as he descends slowly from the sky above Roxanne. He stares, speechlessly, at the crowd. "You would," his voice is too quiet. He pauses, remembering the microphone in his hand. "You would," he begins again, "Rather have evil triumph than have a hero from a different planet?" His voice breaks partway through. He finishes on a tired, shaken note.

"Wayne," Roxanne says gently, "Never underestimate the bigotry and hypocrisy of the human race."

She fires the gun a third and final time.

Wayne disintegrates into a cloud of fine blood-red droplets and splatter.

The crowd roars in disbelief, fear, shock, and, to Roxanne's great pleasure, approval.


	34. Tipping Point

**Pale Blue Shadows**

I love you guys. The reviews I got for the last chapter were just wonderful. If you want more, keep stroking my ego the way you all are. I promise to deliver.

_Chapter 34:Tipping Point  
><em>

"_Wayne," Roxanne says gently, "Never underestimate the bigotry and hypocrisy of the human race."_

_She fires the gun a third and final time. _

_Wayne disintegrates into a cloud of fine blood-red droplets and splatter. _

_The crowd roars in disbelief, fear, shock, and, to Roxanne's great pleasure, approval. _

In an instant, Metro Man is gone. The simple pull of a trigger, and the very fixed point of Metro City's pride and false justice was gone. The crowd slowly falls silent, realizing after a long, chaotic moment that whatever is happening is not yet over. The Spider Bots remain in their positions, firmly blocking the exits from the central plaza. Every eye falls upon Roxanne's lithe form. Uncertainty trickles through the crowd. What is Roxanne Ritchie, exactly? Hero, freedom fighter, terrorist? Conqueror or salvation?

Green eyes fixate on her. The link she has with the blue alien has gone strangely dead. To her, he seems shockingly silent, even numb. To himself, he is frozen, waiting for her final proclamation. She has thrown him into a category apart from her own. His dreams of defeating Metro Man, of taking over Metrosity, of finding or forcing some sort of approval from the unloving masses, have been subsumed by Roxanne. What he could not do, she has done, and not for her love of him. She has made that much clear in her speech. She has her own dreams and plans, and he has merely become an accessory to them. He's just as uncertain as the crowd about the future and what it holds. All things now rest in Roxanne.

Roxanne smirks gently at the crowd before her, relishing the power she holds over every living being and thinking machine surrounding her. It is a heady feeling, this absolute control. Roxanne can understand now, what she never could before – how power could mean everything. How certain people and figures could become so much larger than life, dictating the lives and futures and desires and dreams of others. She had traveled so very far to reach this place.

Her gaze slipped over the crowd, taking in the insecure expressions of the populace. Metro City was hers for the taking, if she wanted it. And while she wasn't sure she wanted a city to run, she did want this feeling of power. She wanted it like she had never wanted anything before. It was a deep, dark hunger that stirred inside her. A siren song that told her to embrace this, to take every ounce of power they would offer and to then multiply it tenfold, a hundredfold. She could rule this country, perhaps even this world.

In the crowd below, a very different woman gazed up, reading the expression of the power-hungry creature who stood on stage. This woman watched the troubled gaze of the alien who remained, eyes fixed on Ritchie in uncertainty and horror. This woman read the crowd in a very different way.

All around Officer Irena Kazik, people were scared. Some may have demanded the death of their hero, but Kazik had known, for a long time now, just how tired the people of her city were of the constant battles. The presence of two enormously powerful alien beings had destabilized the city. The fact that one of those beings happened to be the adopted son of the wealthiest, and perhaps most crooked, family in Metro City had been a constant roadblock for the Metro City P.D. More than once, Kazik had found herself wishing that the two aliens would wipe each other off the face of the Earth, if only so she could finally do the job that she had wanted to do since she was a little girl.

There was a very real shortage of justice in Metro City, a fact that had brought more than a few ironic smiles to Metro City police officers when they arrived at crime scenes, only to find Metro Man had already apprehended the "criminal," destroying half the evidence that was so completely precious to the American legal system. Justice could rarely be served effectively when you couldn't prove guilt or go after half of the organized crime for fear of upsetting the untidy balance of power. Compared to Metro Man's vigilante justice, Megamind was little more than a public nuisance.

And to think, the slip of a woman who stood on stage now had managed to defeat the both of them more thoroughly than either alien had ever done to each other. Kazik's eyes narrowed as she watched Ritchie. Kazik didn't trust the press, and Ritchie was, first and foremost, a newswoman. She was no fool and knew how to play a crowd. Today's performance was proof that her skills had not weakened at all, though, if the pieces could be put together the right way, they would all have to accept that Ritchie had been doing a bang-up acting job for a very long time now.

But the crowd was scared and uncertain, and Ritchie was showing no sign of setting things straight. In fact, if Kazik was reading things right, Ritchie was simply going mad with power. Kazik could understand that. If anyone in Metro City had been toyed with and made to feel helpless, it probably was Ritchie, who had been torn apart by the very media she had once dominated. The feeling of power and control was likely an addictive balm. It was no excuse for dragging this out, however. And the growing fear and uncertainty in the blue alien's eyes as he stood just behind Ritchie were a red flag to Kazik. If Megamind was getting nervous and scared, chances were the general populace should be downright terrified and cowering for cover.

Kazik's brown eyes glittered as she scanned the area. Most of the officers around her were as scared and uncertain as the rest of the crowd. They were all far too used to letting other people make the decisions. Kazik took a deep breath, looking up at Ritchie for a long moment. The woman looked like she was bordering on insanity. The deadly weapon in her hands was still raised, though Kazik wouldn't have been surprised if that fact was lost on Ritchie.

Kazik sighed softly, her heart breaking a little. Finally, after so very long, this city had a chance to heal. It was free of the extraterrestrial feud that had raged over and under and through it for decades. It was just too bad that the woman responsible for freeing them didn't seem to have any real idea why she had done it, or what to do now that she had. Kazik's hands busied themselves for a brief moment. There was a choice to be made here. This moment was a tipping point, from which Metro City and its people could finally recover, or could slip further into the darkness. It was strange, she had always imagined that this sort of thing happened to other people. That the motto, "to serve and protect," was mostly just words, no matter how fervently she believed in their meaning. She had never expected that she would have the chance to prove her dedication and devotion to this city and its people.

Officer Irena Kazik took the shot.

Roxanne Ritchie crumpled to the stage.

A fed up and stressed out crowd swarmed past the Spider Bots that surrounded the square. The Bots stood motionless, without direction or instruction.

Syx unfroze, scrambling over the few feet that separated him from the woman he loved. "Roxanne?" he whispered, true terror in his voice.

True chaos ruled over all things.


	35. In The Aftermath

**Pale Blue Shadows**

Mwuahaha… evil plot twists for the win. I love you guys. Like, seriously. And I love all your reviews. Especially the long ones. If I had time to bake cookies, I would bake you Megamind-shaped ones. And if I could give them to you, you would all be given one.

I went with rapid update, rather than lengthy one, just so you can stop worrying about what happens to Roxanne. See? I can be nice.

_Chapter 35: In The Aftermath_

_Officer Irena Kazik took the shot. _

_Roxanne Ritchie crumpled to the stage. _

_A fed up and stressed out crowd swarmed past the Spider Bots that surrounded the square. The Bots stood motionless, without direction or instruction. _

_Syx unfroze, scrambling over the few feet that separated him from the woman he loved. "Roxanne?" he whispered, true terror in his voice. _

_True chaos ruled over all things. _

When Roxanne woke up, the entire world seemed different. Consciousness came to her slowly, as if she were recovering it piece by piece. She swam up through inky darkness, the light of day seeming terribly far away. It felt like it took forever, but she eventually broke the surface, drawing a ragged breath. Her eyes flickered open, closing again almost instantly as pain blossomed outwards from her upper thigh. She choked back a sob, hearing a strained, gasping whimper instead.

"You're awake," a cold, analytical voice announced.

Roxanne blinked, tracing the familiarity of the voice as she peered upwards. The woman seemed to be a nurse, if the scrubs she wore were anything to go by. Her manner seemed off though, but then again, perhaps it was only in movies and television that nurses went running for doctors when patients woke up.

"You thought you were pretty damn clever, didn't you, Rox?" the nurse hissed quietly at her.

Roxanne blinked again, struggling to clear her vision so that she could get a clearer look at the woman at her bedside.

"You could've told me, you know. I would've understood. And maybe you could have been saved all this insanity," the "nurse" waved a hand dramatically around the hospital room.

"Tiff?" Roxanne croaked, finally placing the voice as the sharp eyes and tightly pulled ponytail of brown hair came into focus.

"You know you're under lock and key, right?" Tiff continued, her eyes scanning the hospital charts. She looked down at Roxanne from over the top of the clipboard. "You're boyfriend is a fugitive. Again. Though, I dunno, from what you _said_ up there, when you were grand-standing, I'm not sure if he isn't hiding more from you than the law."

Roxanne drew in a rapid breath, memories flooding back. "What," her voice cracked, "What happened?"

Tiff lifted a critical eyebrow as she set the clipboard down on Roxanne's bedside. She brought her hands down to rest on the edge of the hospital bed and leaned close. "You got shot," she growled lowly, "Right in the thigh. Bullet grazed the artery. You're lucky your honey didn't waste time to think, or there's no way he would've stopped the blood loss in time. Which is surprising, really. Cause if it were me, after what you said…" Tiff shook her head, her voice taking on a harder edge. "But that's the good news, hun," she continued, "I _know_ crazy, like, _intimately_, and you were batshit up there. If that officer _hadn't_ shot you…" Tiff turned her head slightly, breaking the stare she had held on Roxanne's eyes. "I was afraid for you." Tiff chewed on her lower lip. "I was afraid for what you would do when you finally came to and realized what you'd done. Cause, Rox? You were… I don't even know what you were on the verge of, but I don't think its something you could've come back from."

Roxanne swallowed. Her mouth felt dry, her throat like sandpaper. Her eyes ached from the brightness of the room. Her leg _hurt_. And she was tired, so very tired. But what Tiff was telling her held her attention despite all this. Her memory felt fuzzy, as if she didn't really want to remember it, but it was there, nonetheless. Tiff's earnest words felt accurate. There had been a tipping point and Roxanne had very nearly tumbled off the edge. She'd been… dangerous. And stupid. And evil. Really, truly evil. If she thought about what she had said to stir the crowd into giving her the reaction she wanted, well, she wouldn't be entirely surprised if Syx never looked at her the same way again.

And that was a thought that _really_ hurt.

Roxanne closed her eyes with a groan. "Water?" she croaked finally, the desert in her throat overwhelming her.

Tiff sighed, producing a glass of water seemingly from nowhere and pressing it to Roxanne's lips. "Little sips there, Rox. Not too fast. You were out for a while," Tiff's free hand stroked back some of Roxanne's hair. She sighed again. "You're awful lucky I'm here, Rox," she said softly, "There aren't exactly a whole lot of people who want to see you right now."

Roxanne give Tiff a weak smile. "I didn't realize there ever was," she replied, her eyes watering slightly.

Tiff gave her a tight smile in response. "You let me know when you're ready to move," she said slowly. "I've got a promise to keep, and I intend to keep it. You may be nuts, but you aren't so nuts that you deserve to be locked up forever and all time. Not you and not your crazy boyfriend either." She looked down at Roxanne, "Not that I believed that at first, but what he told me made enough sense that I could buy into it."

Roxanne stared up at Tiff hopelessly. "What… what did he say?" she whispered, wishing, wishing so badly that things hadn't gone so terribly, stupidly wrong.

"He figures that your… emotional bond… link thing… which is hella weird, by the way… was so strained, especially with all your pretending and faking feelings, that it basically caused you to snap." Tiff gazed down at Roxanne critically, "Seems us humans with our measly little brains can't quite handle the link with the finesse that his people could. So, ya know, good luck with that."

Roxanne let her eyes fall closed again. "Tell him," she began softly, "If you see him, tell him, I'm sorry. I don't… I really don't know what happened to me. It was like, it was like I was someone else, doing things I'd never do."

"Yeah, 'kay," Tiff sounded faintly defeated, "You just focus on getting better. Already told you I need to get you outta here sooner rather than later." There was a pause, "And now your friendly officer watchdog is back, so I better scram." There was a heavy silence, and Roxanne began to wonder if Tiff had left the room. "Take care, Rox," her voice came faintly, suddenly, as Roxanne began to succumb to sleep, "He needs you."

* * *

><p>Outside her hospital room, Roxanne could tell the world was moving forward. No one had heard from Megamind since his… dramatic upstaging. The Metro City P.D. had snapped into action, as if awakening from some sort of coma, and, with the blessing of city hall, cracked down hard on the organized crime. Without Metro Man to fear, the city looked after its own justice, evidence intact. In fact, people were actually stepping up from all walks of life. Knowing that they were responsible for their own future, their own safety, and their own city once again seemed to be good for the people of Metro City. Seeing a human upstage the aliens who had dominated the scene had been good for them too. Seeing law and order take the stage and pull the city up by its bootstraps had done even more.<p>

Roxanne watched the news with a weak, thoughtful smile. She watched the people of Metro City pull together, watched leaders emerge from the faceless masses, watched people pull apart the old system and drag in a new one. Sometimes it made her heart ache, sometimes it made her cry terrible, silent tears. Always, it made her think thoughts that were miles beyond the concentration she could give them, as weak and pained as she was.

But mostly, mostly she hurt because she missed Syx. All the months she had spent apart from him under Wayne's watchful eyes had had her sinking her emotions down into some deep, dark part of herself. So much emotion, so deeply buried, maybe that was what had made her snap. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe it didn't matter because any way she looked at it, it didn't excuse the things she had said. In any case, there was none of that now. Whatever strength or insanity had allowed her to do it before had slipped away in the days of unconsciousness her blood-loss had bought her. Now, she wore her feelings like a second-skin. She breathed loss and fear and longing. She lived only so she could find the strength to leave this bed, find Syx, and beg him forgiveness. Beg him to tell her it wasn't over, that he still wanted her, needed her, loved her – because she knew she wouldn't survive without him. Not now, not when there seemed to be so little left of her.

Sometimes she could feel him. A whisper of emotion through the bond they shared, as if he had slipped just slightly into the space their link could reach. But it would only ever be a brush of emotion, and then it would pass. He wouldn't risk coming too close. Tiff had been truthful when she had told her that she was under lock and key. And the watchful eyes of some of Metro City's not-so-incompetent police officers.

Of course, Tiff was her own enigma. How she had gotten from the clinic, into the crowd, and somehow into contact with Syx, was a story she wouldn't share in the hospital. How she managed to walk in and out of Roxanne's room was a discovery made much more quickly. The second time Roxanne had woken up, she had immediately addressed the blurry, scrub-wearing figure at her side as "Tiff," only to discover Dr. O'Leary. Who had immediately reacted to Roxanne's conscious state, demanding answers to questions meant to diagnose any lingering problems.

It had taken O'Leary a solid eight minutes to ask who Tiff was. "The… the nurse?" Roxanne had stuttered. O'Leary gazed down at her in confusion, her petite nose wrinkled. "The only nurses who are allowed in this room are Lila Marshall and Ken Rodrigo," she had told Roxanne firmly. "There's no Tiff on staff here."

In tiny, bite-sized pieces, Roxanne began to realize that Tiff had been more than just a normal soldier in Iraq. She had, in fact, been something else entirely, trained in more things than Roxanne could fathom. Medicine was only one of them. How to SCUBA dive, sneak up on an enemy camp, and kill a man with her bare hands, being others. Infiltrating a hospital was no small feat, but Tiff seemed to wave it off as nothing. Roxanne was becoming quite happy that Tiff was on her side, even if she couldn't figure out why she was.

Really, the only things keeping the fragile pieces of her whole were the fact that she wasn't alone, and that Syx had somehow managed to extract a promise from Tiff that Roxanne would be returned to him. It was all she was really living for now.


	36. The Absence of Choice

**Pale Blue Shadows**

A lot of you are guessing that this story is slowly coming to a close – this is true. So I'll put it out there now, that if any of you want to steal bits of this universe and/or write a sequel, bits out of time, etc., let me know. I'm happy to share.

_Chapter 36: The Absence of Choice_

_Really, the only things keeping the fragile pieces of her whole were the fact that she wasn't alone, and that Syx had somehow managed to extract a promise from Tiff that Roxanne would be returned to him. It was all she was really living for now. _

In the end, he came to her. Really, Roxanne realized that he would never have had the patience to wait, especially with the rest of their circumstances considered. Which was why she lay still, in the middle of the night, watching the pale blue shadows cast upon the wall by the distant hospital parking lot lights.

She had known the moment he had arrived. Even in sleep, she had been able to feel their link come to life, fragile emotions tentatively fluttering in her stomach. Or perhaps in his, and the feeling was only mirrored in her own. She wasn't sure it really mattered. It had become painfully clear over the last few days that without him she was directionless. As high as the rush of power had made her feel, the aftermath was an emptiness.

For so long now, she had lived for revenge, for vengeance. With it complete, the real reason behind her living was left bare. And it was him. She had no career left, no friends beyond Minion and the Bots, no family. Without Syx, she had nothing. A large part of her knew that wasn't good or healthy or right, and it struggled against her feelings, bothering her all through her waking hours. She felt pushed to find some other reason for being, some reason to rebuild herself and reclaim her independence.

With his arrival, it all fell to silence. There was calm in his presence, even as he remained silent, curled into the uncomfortable-looking seat by her window. He sat there, and she lay there, both silent. Minutes stretched on, and the quiet calmness inside of Roxanne seemed to grow. He was all she had, but then again, she was all he had too.

Roxanne finally turned her head, her eyes meeting his between the shadows that filled the room. He looked sad, or maybe thoughtful, and it gave Roxanne pause, seeing the feelings in his eyes but feeling only calm and peace in their link. She opened her mouth slightly, but closed it. She didn't know what to say. What could possibly begin to mend the hurt? They might need each other desperately, but need was not enough to cross the abyss between them.

"Did you mean it?" he said finally, puncturing the silence with the question Roxanne had been demanding of herself for days.

"No," Roxanne said softly. She paused as she felt her heart sink in her chest. "But also yes," she sighed softly, acceptance and shame mingling in her voice. "I was afraid, I think. Without even really knowing it," her gaze fell to the starched, white sheets that covered her form. She splayed her fingers across the blankness, watching the tendons of her hand flex and shift, moving the IV needle just enough to cause minute amounts of discomfort.

"I didn't know it was going to be like this. Like, I can't always tell where you end and I begin, or what is really me. Even when I couldn't feel you, I was doing things and thinking things that I'm not really capable of doing. With the Bots, with the code…" she shook her head, "And all the while, I was acting for Wayne, pretending to be someone I never was and never could really be. Most days, I didn't know who I was. There was only the goal – getting you out and getting Wayne dead. There was no me, no Roxanne. Not really.

"Even now, sitting here in the hospital, trying to figure it all out, I know that without you, I have nothing. I'm no one. I've lost everything that I used to define myself. I got scared. I saw a chance to be someone, independent and powerful, and I guess, I took it. Or tried to. I didn't… I didn't do it on purpose. It wasn't part of the plan."

Roxanne lifted her gaze, finally forcing herself to meet Syx's green eyes. They glowed in the darkness of the room. She swallowed slowly, a lump rising in her throat. He looked at her with something that looked like understanding, but at the same time, there was something suddenly predatory about the way he sat. Where at first he had seemed sad and introspective, curled in on himself, he now looked like something wild, coiled and ready to pounce. With a start, Roxanne knew this was what she feared – that she would be lost entirely, devoured by _him_: his thoughts, his feelings, his being – and it was what she craved. Which was why so much of her was in revolt. Surrender wasn't really in her nature.

"I'm scared that I'm going to get lost in you," she breathed. "I'm scared that, in the end, there will be nothing left of me."

He moved like a predator, uncoiling slowly and then suddenly crossing the room in a blink of an eye. He moved between shadows, and Roxanne wondered what it must have been like for him for all those months. He was changed in some way, though Roxanne couldn't immediately place _how_.

"You're afraid there won't be anything left of _you_?" he said softly, suddenly a whisper in her ear and a breath across her bare neck. "What about me?" he demanded softly, his voice deceptively calm. "What about what will be left of me? Knowing that you are somewhere that is not beside me, with someone who isn't me, that you would go willingly or even plan to leave?"

Roxanne felt a shiver run down her spine, her eyes watering slightly as he played on her guilt. She realized now the reason for the calmness in the link. He was forcing himself to be calm, because beneath it his emotions were as raw and conflicting as her own. He was furious and terrified, miserable and wrathful, possessive and bitter, all wrapped into one mess that he didn't want to put on her all at once. Because he knew she was afraid.

Roxanne met his stare. He gazed down at her with alien eyes, miles away and under her skin all at once. He was seeing all of her and through her all at once, and Roxanne wanted so many things. To give in and surrender herself to him for all time, to run away and escape that gaze, to pull him close and push him away.

"You are mine, Roxanne," he said calmly, his eyes blazing into her own. "You had the opportunities to leave, to choose differently, and this was the choice you made."

Roxanne pulled in a heavy breath. "And now I have no say?" she whispered in reply.

"You had your say already. And either you lied then or you lied in front of all those people," his eyes glittered dangerously.

"Couldn't I have been telling the truth both times?" Roxanne heard herself ask, as if from a distance. "People can change their minds. Feelings change. Women are notorious for it, if you believe the media anyway."

"I don't," Syx snapped, leaning in closer now. His hands were covered in his signature black leather, but they pressed hard into the white sheets and thin mattress of the hospital bed. "And that's one habit humans will have to get rid of. There's something to be said for conviction."

Roxanne blinked. "You can't change human nature," she whispered, her fingers wrapping the sheet into handfuls and pulling them close to her, "We can't help who we are, how we feel, how our feelings change and grow and fade."

"Then maybe you shouldn't get to make choices based on emotion," Syx replied in a growl.

"What should our choices be made on then?" Roxanne demanded back, her expression only vaguely challenging.

"Maybe you shouldn't get to make choices," he mused, pressing closer to her.

Roxanne let her head fall backwards against the pillow, her neck arching invitingly despite herself. She trembled when Syx's lips ghosted across her skin. A ragged gasp escaped her mouth as his teeth nipped against her pulse point. Shaking hands pulled free of the tangled mess of her sheet and pressed against his leather-clad chest. "Syx," she moaned helplessly, her mouth already searching his out.

When he let their mouths touch, it was like fireworks exploding in Roxanne's brain. She ached for his touch, wanted nothing more than to kiss him forever. Her hands roamed up towards his shoulders, pulling him closer to her. His scent filled her senses and Roxanne let go of her reservations. She had nothing else but him, and really, what else could she possibly want or hope for? There was no one and nothing that could make her feel like this.

He pulled away, leaving her aching with want and need, gasping with exertion and the threat of pain than road up her nervous system from her slow-healing leg. His eyes were dark as he scanned up and down her body, his smirk more violent than Roxanne remembered. "I can fix that," he said softly, off-handedly, as if she were little more than a damaged Bot.

Roxanne felt like her heart was in a vice. He seemed so cool, so distant, and yet his kiss had burned with need. "Syx," she whispered brokenly, "What's happened to us?"

Syx's smirk drew thinner, his eyebrows more raised. He straightened himself, tossing his cape behind himself nonchalantly. "Do you want your leg healed?" he said in a tone that seemed almost bored.

"Yes," Roxanne agreed quickly, even as her forehead remained wrinkled in concern. The feeling that something had changed, some part of her reality had shifted, was even stronger.

"Good," Syx scooped her up without a second of hesitation, pulling the IV from her hand with little regard for her comfort, wrapping the sheet more securely around her as he moved.

Roxanne swallowed against the nick of pain to her hand, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her eyes widened as she realized he was walking towards the door to her room, rather than the window. "What are you..." she began, her voice catching in her throat as he kicked open the door to the hospital hallway. "Where are the guards?" she asked uncertainly, the sudden silence of the hospital filling her ears with an eerie disquiet.

Syx shrugged slightly, dropping one shoulder towards a particularly dark shadow on the floor. Roxanne's eyes strained into the darkness, peering intently even as Syx began to walk down the hallway away from the shadow. There was a long moment as Roxanne felt the handle of the sheathed De-Gun press against her buttock. Her breath caught in her throat as she slowly realized the true nature of the shadow.

"Why are we just walking out of here?" Roxanne said suddenly, hurriedly. "Where are the nurses, the doctors, the guards, the patients?"

"What does that matter?" Syx replied, his voice betraying nothing.

The handle of the De-Gun pressed insistently.

"What have you done?" Roxanne's voice echoed slightly in the darkened, empty hallways. "Are they all... is everyone dead?"

"Only those who needed power to stay alive or who got in the way," Syx replied, almost conversationally.

The world spun out from under Roxanne as she digested his words. She felt faint as she calculated the death toll. The De-Gun dug further into her, pressing now into the side of her hip. She felt nauseous. The De-Gun couldn't kill before she'd gotten her hands on it.

"What have you done?" Roxanne whispered in a fractured voice.

"You made me the monster, Roxanne," he replied, his smirk still in place as Roxanne finally dared to look him in the eye. "I'm just living up to your expectations."

Roxanne shivered, her arms growing slack as she stared incredulously at the man who held her in his arms. "What are you doing?" she asked mechanically, her eyes frozen in their horror and disbelief.

"You killed Metro Man, but failed to take over the city," he told her in clipped tones, "Instead, you set me up as a pawn in your own villainous schemes and managed to revive the limited law and justice remaining in the city. If we're going to be villains, my love, we need to be evil ones. You've left us no other choice. We'll have to terrify them into believing in us."

Roxanne didn't think she had ever seen Syx look so evil, or so terrifying, as he did in the shadows of the bloodstained hallways of the hospital.

Perhaps Syx did have plans for what to do with a city.

Roxanne could only hope. After all, she was no longer the one making the decisions.


	37. Anything

**Pale Blue Shadows**

I'm so very sorry this took so long. My muses got a bit lost. For the record, I'm aiming to wrap this up around chapter 40…

Also for the record, this chapter was written against Florence and the Machine's "No Light, No Light" on a constant replay.

_Chapter 37: Anything_

_Roxanne didn't think she had ever seen Syx look so evil, or so terrifying, as he did in the shadows of the bloodstained hallways of the hospital. _

_Perhaps Syx did have plans for what to do with a city. _

_Roxanne could only hope. After all, she was no longer the one making the decisions. _

Roxanne awoke to a chill touch across her inner thigh. Pain shot up from her wound, as fingers slipped across it, leaving a balm in their wake. In just moments, the cool balm was sinking into her skin, easing the pain in a way no hospital medication or treatment had managed.

"Syx," she whispered as her eyelids fluttered open.

"Shhh," he breathed, sliding another coat of the healing balm he'd developed for her across the exposed wound. Raw, damaged skin drank it in, taking advantage of the various enzymes and healing agents that his DNA coded for.

Roxanne shivered. Memory flooded into her, leaving her feeling as raw as the wound to her leg. She let her head fall to the side, focusing dimly on the texture of the silk sheets she lay upon. She watched a lock of her dark hair slip down across her field of view, obscuring the world beyond. She let a long, shuddering sigh fall from her lips. The ragged catch of breath that suggested a sob was caught just in time. Tears blurred Roxanne vision, causing the dark threads of her hair to blur before her.

"Shhh," Syx murmured again, his hand stilling against her bare leg, "Don't cry, Roxanne." His voice was strangely collected, and though his emotions seemed composed, Roxanne could feel the wobble in his control. "You'll be healed before you know it," he continued, "The pain will be gone in just a minute or two."

Roxanne could not contain the sob that followed that declaration. The wracking sound that escaped her was little more than an animalistic howl. In trying to fix things, she'd made them into a disastrous mess from which she could see no absolution. All that she had loved about Syx was wrapped somewhere deep within him, far from her reach. His failing grip on his end of their emotional link scared her. After everything they had been through, he was still scared to let her feel what he felt. Everything was wrong.

"The pain isn't the kind," she gasped behind her tears, as she turned away from Syx, curling inward upon herself, "that you can fix with some cream." She swallowed hard, pulling her knees upward into her chest as she lay heavily on her side. "The pain is from what I've done to us." She snuffled back the wetness, running a bare forearm across her nose. The sobs wracked her chest, even as she struggled to hold them inside of herself. The ache in her lungs mirrored the ache in her heart. It seemed fitting. She snuffled again, fighting to get the words out. The words that would acknowledge her culpability in all this, her role as the true evil force. "The pain is from what I've done to you. What I've made you do."

"My love," his voice was too distant, too cool for Roxanne to bear, "I'm just fine."

"No," she finally shrieked, grabbing the pillow from beneath her head. Without thought to physical pain, she twisted herself upright as she flung the pillow forcefully at Syx, where he kneeled partly on the bed. He barely blinked as the pillow made contact with his face. Roxanne watched, a pool of horror in her gut as he shifted his weight back slightly to the foot that rested on the floor. She shook her head slowly as tears worked their way silently down her cheeks. "You are not even close to fine. You're… you might as well be on another planet. You won't let me in," her voice was loud, nearly shrill in her own ears, but Syx didn't even bat an eye. "You won't let me in," she repeated, the dread in her veins sifting into her voice. "How bad must it be, how angry must you be at me, how hurt, for you not to let me feel it too?" She pressed onwards, leaning forward towards him, ignoring the lingering pain in her thigh as she inched along the silk sheets.

"How terrifying must it be in your head, for you not to want me to see? How badly have I fucked up for you to be so damn cold?" His stare remained impassive, cool green eyes watching her without emotion behind them as she raged ever closer to his black-clad form. "Even after all the damage we've done to each other, you're holding more back," Roxanne's voice had fallen to little more than a hoarse whisper as the tears dried against her skin.

Roxanne found herself in a near-crouch, staring up at him through the distance of a mere foot or two of space. In her head, she found herself strangely calm. It seemed very simple, now that she forced it out into the open. It wasn't de-atomized bodies of innocent people that had her horrified, it was his coldness; the lack of light in his eyes. Being here with him, without having him, was a feeling that could destroy her. She would rather die than spend a minute more in this separateness that had grown between them. She would rather kill by his side, rather be the darkness than be anything else without him. She needed him, no matter what the terms of that would be.

"Stop holding back," she whispered, eyes boring into his own, emotions forcing their way into him. If he wanted to be evil, then they would be evil. She'd do whatever it took to fix this, be anything if it meant they could be together again in the way they had been.

"Stop holding back?" he grated from between inhumanly sharp teeth. "If I stop holding back…"

"You might kill me," Roxanne finished calmly. "But you will definitely kill me if you stay like this. I'll die of the guilt and heartbreak." She tilted her head slightly, "Feel what I feel." She reached for his hand, her pale peach hands wrapping around his pale blue one as she pulled it close. She flattened his hand against her breast, forcing him to feel her heart beating beneath the thin fabric of the camisole she wore. "Feel what I feel," she hissed quietly as her eyes darkened. Whatever he wanted from her, she would give. Whatever he needed, she would provide. If it took years of proving herself, she would do it, to mend what she had broken in that moment of weakness. Her individuality, her values, her beliefs, her very personhood meant nothing when weighed against a life without all of him within her.

His green eyes glared down at her. His hand flexed reflexively against her breast, where she had trapped his hand against her. Without a second to think, his other hand had tangled itself into her hair at the base of Roxanne's skull. The slightest pressure dragged her upwards, pulling her to her knees even as his still-booted foot left the ground behind him. "You aren't scared?" His voice was little more than a growl. "You aren't terrified that the evil alien might take your life, or your identity? That you might lose yourself?"

Roxanne felt a tiny part of herself buck at his words. A horrified part of her that screamed out against losing herself to him, to this darkness that had finally consumed him. She quashed that part against the iron certainty that this was truly it for her. There were no choices left to be made. They had all been made long before. There were only consequences to face now, and running from them would only destroy them both.

"No," Roxanne smirked darkly as she slid her hands towards him. Fingertips slipped lightly across the angle of his jaw, relearning the feel of his skin. "I'm not scared anymore," she murmured, closing the distance between them as she leaned closer. His mouth crashed down onto hers before she could complete the motion, always impatient. The flood of his emotions came pouring down the link between them, swamping Roxanne's mind completely. For a moment there was only blackness. Blackness and the taste of his tongue. Roxanne struggled for an instant for the air she needed to fill her lungs. Then the need hit her. The need and desire and jealous rage. The betrayal and the hurt and the frustrated fury that was born out of the love. The blinding, terrible, all-consuming love that demanded eternity. The kind of love that Roxanne had long ago stopped believing in. The kind that drove lovers to their deaths and men to madness. The sort that belonged only in stories, and could never survive in real life. Roxanne grabbed onto that love and pulled it into herself, wrapping her heart and her thoughts and her very being in the impossible feeling.

Her hands sought purchase against the back of his neck and the flat plains of his shoulders as he leaned into her, forcing her backwards into the cool silk sheets beneath them. Frantic fingers crawled across the leather of his jumpsuit, seeking the hidden zipper and once finding it, dragging it down the lean angle of his back. Roxanne swam through a haze of feelings she couldn't quite contain, her own indistinguishable from her lover's. Teeth scraped against sweat-kissed necks as whatever fabric remained between them was wrenched away.

Roxanne felt just as found as she felt lost. His touch drew lines of fire across her skin, his mouth biting and sucking at her pulse point in time with the furious drive of her heart beat. She could drown in him, but she knew she would die happy. His hands were not gentle, his nails clawing scratches into her skin as his teeth left their own marks. He pushed her down into the bed, violent lust swimming incoherently in his eyes as he desperately tried to mark her as his own, to erase any memory or trace of anyone else who dared to have ever touched his mate. The possessive need drove his actions, and as Roxanne felt her own nails drag roughly across his skin, she knew it was consuming her as well.

He took her without any pretense or romance, and Roxanne welcomed him. She didn't feel beautiful or gentle or kind. She felt hard and cruel and very nearly monstrous. She felt like darkness, filled with violence and sex and pain. It was a delirium of wild emotion and action. Pain drowned in pleasure, but only enough to drive them onwards. She was his, completely, utterly, irrevocably. There could be no others. Roxanne could never bear it.


	38. Darkness Rising

**Pale Blue Shadows**

I feel the need to apologize for the lengthy delay in updating this story. I've been trying to figure out a way for this story to end happily, and I've just not been able to find it. So I'm warning you all of this now. If you want a happy ending to this story, it isn't going to happen. I'm sorry for that, though I didn't really expect otherwise. I hope you all aren't disappointed with how this story is going to end, and I do intend to get the last two chapters up in the next day or two now. I already have most of it written. Thank you all so much for staying with me through all of this - your reviews have been wonderful and your support amazing!**  
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_Chapter 38: Darkness Rising_

_He took her without any pretense or romance, and Roxanne welcomed him. She didn't feel beautiful or gentle or kind. She felt hard and cruel and very nearly monstrous. She felt like darkness, filled with violence and sex and pain. It was a delirium of wild emotion and action. Pain drowned in pleasure, but only enough to drive them onwards. She was his, completely, utterly, irrevocably. There could be no others. Roxanne could never bear it. _

Syx did have a plan, as it turned out. Several plans, to be exact. Plans which would be executed in a specific order and time which would ultimately lead to the city being theirs. The death of Metro Man had been a lost opportunity to seize control, but it was not, could not be the only one. One need only orchestrate a way to bring the city's populace to its knees once more.

The only problem, of course, was that even in the face of Syx's renewed determination, Roxanne felt uncertainty. She had watched the city strengthen itself during the last few weeks. From her hospital bed, she had watched ordinary citizens step up to make their city into a better place. It was everything she had ever dreamed of for Metro City, and she had felt a tiny, burgeoning joy for what was happening. Or at least she had until she had become privy to Syx's new plans. Now she felt only a dull terror for the fledging movement which would very soon find itself crushed.

"You're hesitating," Syx's voice interrupted her thoughts as she worked ever so slowly on a Brain Bot. Moral codes had to be reprogrammed, and Roxanne wasn't sure she liked the direction the codes were going in. There had been a very fine line before. Deaths had happened by accident, then only when warranted, and now… now she wasn't sure what "only when warranted" meant. It certainly seemed a broader definition than she remembered from the last time she had been at Syx's side.

"I am," Roxanne admitted with a sigh. "What if… what if this isn't right, Syx?" she heard herself ask, even as she let her uncertainty and confusion swamp their emotional link. "People in this city are finally opening their eyes and doing the right thing. Maybe, maybe they don't need us." Images of dark shadows and dark blood rose unbidden to Roxanne's mind, and as she met Syx's heavy gaze, she wondered if the memory was even her own.

"It won't last," he replied, shaking his head with a finality that didn't really seem characteristic of him. "These are the same people who…"

"Yeah," Roxanne interrupted, feeling the pain and the hurt he felt through the link. "I know. I just… it doesn't feel quite right, you know?"

It wasn't the first time Roxanne had felt the thought cross her mind, that Syx looked somehow more alien than she remembered. But she supposed it was the first time that the emotion had been strong enough to funnel down the link into him. The idea hit him with a shudder, and green eyes regarded Roxanne with a toxic hint of betrayal.

"I don't mean it like that!" Roxanne exclaimed, dimly wondering when it was that half of their conversation had been reduced to shared emotions and meaningful looks. "But you've changed, Syx," she felt her voice drop to little more than a whisper, "What am I supposed to think?" She shook her head in frustration as he watched her in hurt silence, "It doesn't change how I feel about you."

The silence stretched on for an eerily long time, and Roxanne felt the strangest pressure in her mind. Syx was searching out her feelings through the link, looking for the truth from her. Roxanne's expression turned into a bitter smile. "You don't believe me?" she murmured in a broken whisper. "How can you not believe me?"

Roxanne rose slowly from the work space she had been sitting at, her eyes never leaving Syx's as she closed the distance between them. "I love you," she continued, her voice hoarse with emotion, "I love you more than I thought I could ever love anyone. I'm absolutely lost in you. There are days I feel like you're the only thing I have to hold onto in this world." She lifted her hands to his chest, smiling slightly when he lifted his hands to join hers, tangling their fingers in mid-air. "Humans have doubts," she whispered softly, "And that's all you're feeling. My doubts about what we're doing, what we're planning. I'm not doubting that I love you. And you never need to worry that I will."

"I know," he replied quietly, his eyes enigmatically dark as they flashed with some unknown emotion. But Roxanne felt certainty and calm through their link as she closed the distance between them for a kiss. She felt so much stronger in his arms.

* * *

><p>"Okay, Chicky," Tiff's voice was slightly strangled, "You know I love you to bits, but you and your boyfriend? Kinda not on the side of good and light and fluffy puppies right now."<p>

Roxanne stared blankly at Tiff, half distracted by the sudden rise of ecstatic success she could feel running down the link to her from Syx as she felt him perfect some nuance in the programming for something. A part of her itched to be back at the lair, working by his side, sharing in that triumphant moment of proper success. The technical stuff came so easily now, and it was rewarding in a way Roxanne hadn't felt for ages – not since she had stopped being a reporter.

"Rox?" Tiff's voice probed in a violent hiss, "Are you even listening to me?"

Roxanne tore herself away from her internal world and blinked at Tiff. The woman sat across from her in a nondescript, franchised coffee shop. They sat perched on wooden chairs, Roxanne wearing the face of a lovely, mocha-skinned girl with big brown eyes that screamed innocence. Tiff looked less put together, her hair looking uncombed, her face bare of make-up as she stared at Roxanne in concern. Tiff looked out of place in her military fatigue pants and a baggy white t-shirt, though it was her frazzled expression that put her over the top.

"Tiff," Roxanne began with a sigh, "I'm fine."

"Yeah, sure ya are," Tiff agreed, "It's not you I'm worried about. It's the city!" She stared daggers at Roxanne. "I had a plan. A plan to get you out of the hospital with no fuss, and instead of trusting me, your boyfriend goes in and _slaughters innocents_." Her wide eyes met Roxanne's, "I don't doubt that you're safe with him, but he's actually, physically crazy about you. I don't trust him. Not anymore. There was a time when no one died, and if they did, it was their own stupidity that dragged them into it. Now… Roxanne were you even paying attention to what you were doing last week?"

Roxanne gazed at Tiff with a slightly dazed expression. "Last week?" she murmured.

"Yes, last week," Tiff confirmed, "When you and your boyfriend held up the bank on North and Twentieth? I want you to actually think about that and tell me what made it different from the robbery you and him executed before everything went to hell!"

Roxanne stared dumbly at her friend, her fingers twitching slightly against the paper coffee cup in her hands.

"You killed," Tiff hissed across the tiny table, leaning in with hooded eyes. "You killed every guard, every patron. You would never have done that before." Tiff shook with suppressed rage, "And I _know_ there were a hundred other ways you and him could have done it. No one had to die, Rox. Certainly not there. They would have handed you both the money gladly. Life is worth more than some cash from a bank vault. And the people in this city _know_ that."

Roxanne took a calm sip of her coffee, licking her lips slowly. "It was part of the plan," she said finally, "We have to gain back the fear of the city somehow."

A strangled cry escaped Tiff's lips as she fell backwards into her chair. "I don't even know you!" she exclaimed. "How can you just sit there calmly justifying the death of innocent people?" She shook her head violently, "No, Roxanne, you've changed. Somehow, somewhere, you've changed. I mean, it's one thing to be a bit ruthless. It's another to be just cruel."

Roxanne took another sip of her coffee, coolly regarding Tiff over the lip of the cup. "You don't have to stay here," she said calmly.

The sound Tiff made was somewhere between a sigh and a sob. "You _have_ changed," she said softly. "Once upon a time, Roxanne Ritchie would have questioned this kind of thing. You should at least have _doubts_!"

"I don't," Roxanne said with a trace of a smirk on her lips. "I did, but they went away. So they couldn't have meant very much, could they?"

Tiff gazed at her with an expression of confused alarm. "You're losing your humanity, Roxanne," she said softly. "Whatever it is he's doing to you, it's changing you. You aren't really you anymore."

"I'm not weak anymore," Roxanne spat quietly, her gaze turning hard.

Tiff shook her head, "I won't argue with you about this. If you won't listen to reason, then you won't see me trying to make you." Tiff pushed her chair out with an air of certainty. The flustered look on her face had been replaced with hard edges and a sniper's gaze. "But don't think for a moment that I'll just be sitting around and watching, Roxanne Ritchie," she said quietly as she rose from her chair and leaned down hard upon the table so that her gaze was level with Roxanne's own. "I protect people," she said softly, "I don't let them die, not even in the name of some twisted, warped definition of love."

* * *

><p>"Sir?" the voice that interrupted Syx's work was tremulous. "Sir? Can I have a minute?"<p>

Syx's gaze flew upwards from the Bot that lay disassembled on the work desk before him, its internal components strewn across the work surface. "What is it, Minion?" he asked imperiously.

"Sir," Minion inched closer, still maintaining a distance that he would never have dreamed he would feel necessary. "Sir, I wanted to ask what you've been doing to Miss Ritchie."

Syx's face lit up in a vague mockery of a smile, "Nothing that would hurt her, Minion. Only what would help her."

"Yes, about that, Sir," Minion pointed slightly, "Are you sure you know what is helping her and what might be, oh, I don't know," he paused slightly, squeaking out his last few words in a strained burst, "hurting her?"

Syx snorted, waving a hand dismissively, "Don't you worry, Minion," he exclaimed, "I've done an extensive study of her biochemistry, and nothing I've done will cause any injury."

Minion looked increasingly nervous, "I was," he began, his eyes twitching slightly, "I was thinking more in terms of mental and emotional health, Sir. She's, uh, making choices I don't think she would normally. And she seems… and actually, you, Sir, seem to…" Minion trailed off, his expression wretched as he watched his best friend's gaze turn hard. "You killed those people, Sir," he said finally, the words forming very suddenly and very clearly. "You and Miss Ritchie didn't need to kill those people. At the bank, I mean. And you never would have before."

"It's part of the plan, Minion," Syx's voice was almost velvet with the danger in his voice.

"I know, Sir," Minion replied, "But is it worth it, Sir?"

"Worth what?" Syx prompted, his gaze going haughty.

"Worth losing everything else."

There was a long moment, in which Minion felt certain that he had gotten through to Syx. Their eyes met, and for a long moment, he could see his old friend looking out at him. He saw the wretchedness he felt, the guilt over the things he had done. There was a sadness deep inside his eyes, as if his heart was breaking under the strain of his choices. And if Minion looked hard enough, he could see that it was already too late to go back. To stop killing now, to stop the changes that were being made to Roxanne's very physiology, to stop this plan would mean admitting that something had gone wrong somewhere. It would mean admitting to that guilt and wrongness. And that was something that could not be handled.

Minion let his gaze drop away. "Right, Sir," he said softly, his own heart breaking. His one purpose, his mission in this life, was to protect and care for his master. If that meant going ahead with these lies and half-truths, then that was what it meant. There was nothing else he could do.


	39. Dominion

**Pale Blue Shadows**

_Chapter 39: Dominion_

_Minion let his gaze drop away. "Right, Sir," he said softly, his own heart breaking. His one purpose, his mission in this life, was to protect and care for his master. If that meant going ahead with these lies and half-truths, then that was what it meant. There was nothing else he could do. _

The plans worked. There wasn't much else Roxanne could say about that. The calm certainty she had felt growing inside of her made her feel triumphant, and the power she felt flowing through her veins as she stood at Syx's side was intoxicating. The people of Metrosity trembled before them, and the city itself fell to them, it's rightful rulers.

It was strange then, how Minion looked so much paler than he once had, how much less fanfare there was when they finally came to collect than Roxanne would have once guessed. But then again, Syx had long before shed any remnants of his previously goofy demeanor. He was all hard angles now, a relief of light and shadow. His will was strong, his vision fierce, and Roxanne loved him for it. His methods could be ruthless, perhaps even cruel, but the crowds had always been nothing but nasty to him. You got the life you deserved, Roxanne thought, as those who pledged their allegiance returned to their lives with little to remind them that upper management had changed. Those who did not, who chose to oppose them, well, they were a different story. But everyone had a choice, bow or die. They certainly didn't have to choose death.

The somber tones of Syx's rule surprised only a very tiny part of Roxanne. Some hidden fraction of herself had somehow still expected some sort of shenanigans from him. Money bag fights out in the streets perhaps, or blasting AC/DC through the night. Even the "No, you can't" posters he'd had posted, though they held some note of the tongue-in-cheek mockery he'd once been genius at, had a darker edge to them. Perhaps because the citizens of the city knew that they truly couldn't. Death was only ever a step away.

Roxanne shook herself from her revelry, smoothing the tight black fabric of her overskirt as she sat. The dark purples and blacks of her outfit suited her now. The jagged spikes of the cape overarching her as she ruled over the appeals court. Syx was busy somewhere, negotiating a non-aggression treaty that would provide for their continued sovereignty over the region in exchange for a sliver of access to the various technologies Syx had designed. It seemed even the United States, with all of its claims to freedom and democracy, was willing to barter away a city or so if it meant having access to alien technology. Funny that, really. It was almost as if they knew that Syx wouldn't hesitate to strike back if they tried anything.

"Please, Miss," the voice below her pleaded. "I was only trying to feed the kids…"

"Queen," Roxanne interrupted, boredom in her voice.

"I… uhn…" the middle-aged woman who knelt before her raised her head to stare blankly.

"You called me "Miss," rather than addressing me properly as your Queen," Roxanne explained, waving one hand distractedly. The black leather gloves she wore kept her hands hidden from even the dimmed lighting of the hall, and Roxanne spared more attention to their sleek movement than to the human kneeling below her feet.

There was a long silence as the woman attempted to process the information. Roxanne twitched impatiently, "Take her away," she gestured. A pair of Brain Bots slid out of the shadows and draped their tentacles around the woman's upper arms.

"No!" the woman exclaimed suddenly, her fight-or-flight instinct kicking in, "No, wait! Queen! I need… I have children!"

Roxanne dismissed the women with a slight movement of her fingers. "The farms," she ordered, "I'm feeling merciful."

The tentacles around the woman's arms tightened, metal cables binding her, lifting her so only her toes dragged across the floor, as the bots drifted away from the audience hall. "My children!" the woman's voice echoed as she was dragged into the corridor.

Roxanne gestured towards the shadows. "Twenty-three," she addressed the robot that emerged, "Take a few others and collect the children. You know where they go."

She rose from the throne-like seat on which she had perched. "No more audiences for today," she announced carelessly, the sighs of the petitioners below barely touching her. She stalked from the room, the cape she wore trailing behind her. Black leather boots crossed the floor of the adapted city hall, heels clicking on the marble floors.

"Tell Syx I'm headed for the main office," she told a Brain Bot who rose from curtained shadows at a single look from its mistress. "I'll just be a moment."

Roxanne stalked down the long hallways, a gesture to the left resulting in a bot appearing to open a door for her. Roxanne slid regally through the carved oak door, finding herself in a lavish washroom. Marble counters complemented the floors and stainless steel fixtures gleamed. Another of the endless bots floated at attention, a hand towel draped across its tentacles.

"Forty-two?" Roxanne's voice was suddenly strangely tremulous.

The familiar bot drifted to her side, patiently ignoring the towel-holding bot who twitched slightly at being ignored in favour of the old favourite. Roxanne smiled a tight, pained smile at the bot. "I need out of these gloves," she whispered, her voice hiding a tremor of pain.

"Bowg," Forty-two replied, stroking a tentacle gently over her mistress. "Bowg, bowg," the bot patted her shoulder, even as tentacles pulled the leather gloves from her hands.

Roxanne gasped slightly in pain and bewilderment as she stared at her newly freed hands. Her nails were perfect, pale semi-circles, her skin smooth and well moisturized. And her fingers were tinged pale blue. "It's progressing," Roxanne said distantly, as part of her reached out into the space around her and tugged on her emotional link with Syx. She'd long suspected that this might happen. She'd allowed it, really. It made less and less sense to fight it as time went on. After all, she belonged with Syx, not with the humans of this world. Where she had started hardly mattered.

A wave of sympathetic calm flowed into her, easing her worries. The pain she felt was reduced to a breath of background noise. The restructuring of her physiology as proteins changed and were replaced with better versions, hybridizations of her own and those Syx had introduced into her, was not the easiest transition she'd ever been through. The benefits outweighed the cost, though, she supposed. Her healing was faster, she was less prone to injury, she felt stronger. The last assassination attempt had failed miserably because of it. Poison in her wine. Poison that her not-really-human system had barely even reacted too, even though it should have been a deadly dose.

Syx had been the deadly one, after that. Viciously eliminating the kitchen and serving staff one by one until the guilty party had stepped forward, begging for it to end. Roxanne felt a small glow of pride for her partner. He would protect them until the end of time, she knew. No matter what the cost.

Roxanne waggled her blue-tinged fingers at Forty-Two with a smirk. "What do you think?" she asked softly, "Black nail polish tonight?"

"Bowg," the bot dipped, its single eye regarding Roxanne with devotion, "Bowg, bowg."

Roxanne smiled indulgently at the bot, leaning forward and placing a gentle kiss on its sparking dome. "You're the best, Forty-Two," she murmured, "Accompany me?"

Forty-two snapped to attention, gracefully extending a tentacle to its mistress, wrapping itself gently around the bare skin of her right hand, even as it pushed open the door with several others. The bots were fiercely proud of their master and mistress. Their protection and happiness were tantamount to their existence, and it was more than just a matter of coding. They knew because they retained their ability to self-edit code, and they knew that very little of their devotion rose from anywhere but self-edits.

Roxanne stepped into the main office of the former city hall. Windows filled the wall behind the desk, revealing a panorama of grey skies over the central pond that dominated the city square. The city seemed silent, hesitant beneath them. The few human figures that crossed the square did so quickly, with heads bowed and coats pulled tight, as if fabric could protect them. "You didn't join me for breakfast," she said lightly, turning her attention to the city's leader. Or "Evil Overlord," if the faceplate on his desk was to be believed.

"You didn't sleep again, last night, did you?" she continued, sashaying to his side.

A blue arm snaked out and pulled Roxanne into Syx's lap, even though his eyes never left the computer screen before him. His lips were pulled tight, a look of concentrated frustration on his features. Roxanne regarded the screen for a moment, "The UN still isn't budging then?" she murmured, her blue tinted finger tips stroking Syx's jaw line absently.

"Not a millimeter," Syx replied, catching her hand in his own and pressing an absent-minded kiss to it. "Not even an acknowledgement of our supremacy."

Roxanne sighed softly, turning from the screen to instead snuggle further into his distant embrace. "Minion even made crepes," she continued, "Strawberry. Your favourite."

"Blueberry is my favourite," Syx replied, his eyes never leaving the screen.

"Right," Roxanne murmured, "But only since November."

"I can't understand why the United Nations won't back down on this," Syx hissed beneath his breath. "Perhaps they need a show of force."

"Bowg?" Forty-two interjected, a strange sadness in its tone.

"Coffee," Syx replied, "Black."

"Bowg," Forty-two acquiesced, floating from the room in strangled silence. It was just another day, average for the new rule of Metrosity, despite all that Forty-two could somehow feel was wrong with it.

* * *

><p>Days go by, followed by weeks, and Minion knows that something will have to give eventually. He is at his wit's end. Syx and Miss Ritchie drift further apart, even as their emotional bond tightens. They feel the same things now, but those things seem to be an almost icy sense of entitlement and a distance from the world that strikes Minion as dangerous.<p>

Syx pushed the UN as far as they thought he would dare. And then he pushed them just a little bit farther. The entire world was hanging on the raggedy edge of something, breath held for fear of upsetting this momentary balance. That an alien who had no fear or compunctions of pushing the _United Nations_ would be content to maintain control of a mere city defied credulity. Everyone knew the worst was yet to come. And Minion didn't know what to do about it.

Sir had a destiny. Perhaps this was it. Conqueror of Earth. It had a certain ring to it, even if made Minion cringe ever so slightly. There was something not quite right about how things had gone. He could feel it in his scales. Something had gone wrong somewhere along the way. Sir had missed his true destiny. Minion was certain of it.

But he didn't dare to comment.

Not even when Miss Ritchie kept turning blue. After all, Miss Ritchie seemed perfectly fine with it. Who was he to challenge that?

Together, Syx and Miss Ritchie had dominion over the city. They would one day have the world. It was inevitable. Minion just wished that that all that power, all that accomplishment, would at least result in a smile. From either one of them. Anything but this cold distance that seemed to have sprung out of their changed world. An emotional link amplified emotion and feeling. Minion shuddered to think how it dealt with an _absence_ of emotion.


	40. Tragedy

**Pale Blue Shadows**

In response to certain reviews – I'm actually doing just fine (and so is the inside of my head)! The problem with this story is that I set out to create a dark fic, in which evil won, and in the end, I just couldn't do it. It gets darker and darker, yes, but only because Roxanne and Syx became the villains, really and truly. To the point where I couldn't save them anymore. In the end, evil doesn't pay off. Only good can save the world. Only love and honesty and kindness can change the world. A lack of it might create villains, but villains perpetuate it. A real hero changes it, fights against it. And that's why this story's Roxanne and Syx can't have a happy ending. I wrote a tragedy. It breaks my heart more than a little.

_Chapter 40: Tragedy_

The resistance was not that strong. It was a fact that worried the young woman even now, as she crept through the dark shadows of the hallway. Even though they had outside funding, the reality was that there was very little they could do. Aliens had landed in their city, and rather than regarding them as proper threats, the world had rolled on by, blithely ignoring that anything was out of place. The rise of one as the adopted son of the city's wealthiest family and the realization that the other was an incompetent joker sealed the deal. There was nothing to be concerned about so long as one balanced out the other. But things never stay balanced for long. And humans don't know how not to meddle.

She supposes that when it all comes down to it, she could blame Roxanne Ritchie for everything that has happened. Even though there had been a moment, when the woman had stood before the city, claiming supremacy over the aliens, that they had all believed. They had believed that humans were the best, the strongest. Even if Ritchie had to be eliminated (obviously off her rocker), there was _so much _that they could do. It could have been a golden age of human kind.

They had neglected the threat inherent to the bumbling fool. They had ignored that a species more clever than they were could exist, and might use their only too human pride against them. There had been a few deaths, but never on purpose, and even though they labeled him a public menace, they had never really thought of him as menacing. Until the night he had slaughtered half a hospital in cold blood. Wasn't really any coming back from that, she figured, her grip on the small pistol in her hands tightening.

This was the fifth assassination attempt. Each attempt was resulting in more and more casualties. The resistance knew that, and ultimately, this would probably be one of their last attempts at it. The probability of success was getting lower and lower, and any hope they had once had in mercy being shown was long gone. No, she would probably be the last real shot at this, before the resistance deferred to its outside leadership and the growing acceptance that war would likely be necessary.

There was a quiet stirring of sound just beyond the end of the hallway. The clink of cutlery and glasses. She had spent several weeks now as kitchen staff. She knew when they ate supper, and on this evening, their Minion had chosen not to join them. His despairing gaze had alighted upon her earlier as he gave her a toothy grimace. "I can't join them tonight," he had told her, something in his tone suggesting to her that he knew more than he let on. That he was telling her for bigger reasons. For a moment she wondered if her cover was blown, or if even their Minion had come to place where the only way to still show love was through betrayal.

The scattered thought was enough to distract her for the barest moment. A single footstep taken too hastily, the flap of a curtain. Robots missed nothing it seemed, as a small chorus of "bowgs" filled the room. The curtain was thrown back, the pistol slapped from her hand to fly through the air and away from her grasp. A humanoid shape in black and blue towered above her.

The De-Gun was leveled at the young woman. Her hazel eyes stared straight into its end, knowing already that the fate that awaited her wasn't one of existence as a blue cube. She would cease to exist. Her very particles separated, scattered in a momentary burst. She'd seen it happen. Not just to Metro Man, but to all who had stood in the way of these creatures. Her gaze flashed momentarily to the sharp, green eyes of the alien who held the weapon aimed at her. Seeing no mercy or softness within them, they darted to his partner's icy blue stare. There was nothing truly human left in that glare, only fierceness and judgment and a harsh look of finality.

The young woman gasped despite herself, "What did you do?" The icy blue eyes that stared into hers blinked. "I thought…" the young woman felt her heart freeze beneath that gaze. The one redeeming thing that her young heart had snatched upon was that the alien and Ritchie loved each other. The things they had done? The horrors they had inflicted? Ultimately done in the name of love, as they fought for each other. But the eyes that looked down at her were so cold, so hard, that she wondered if they could feel anything at all. "I thought you loved each other?" she said finally, the words pouring out despite herself, "How can you love when you've gotten so cold?"

The young woman's voice broke, her heart breaking for the woman who would very soon be half responsible for her death. To lose even that part of your humanity, the ability to love, had to be a bit like dying, she imagined. "I thought at least," the young woman heard herself admitting, "I thought at least if I died… if I failed… that it would be because love would still be winning. If we all lost, it would be because we didn't really deserve to win. But you're just…" Her expression had long ago become one of shock. She couldn't quite believe that her mouth was still moving and words were still spilling from it. She felt certain that she should be already dead, and perhaps it was this sense of borrowed time that forced the accusation from her lips. "You're just empty!"

The woman who had once been human gazed down, evaluating the slender creature who cowered before them. The girl was perhaps all of eighteen, her face wearing an expression of hurt defiance. Her hazel eyes were dangerously alive, feeling everything, the way only a teenaged heart could. In response, ice thawed, cracked, broke apart into icebergs adrift on a sea of emotions that had become so distant. Blue eyes saw, for the first time in so very long.

Roxanne gazed down, feeling a scrap of her humanity ache for the young woman. To believe in love like that, when the reality was so much smaller. Perhaps it was the cold distance that had filled her up like water into an empty cup that had frozen her heart. Or maybe it had been his that had stopped loving first. In either case, Roxanne knew, deep down, that the girl spoke the truth. Too many caresses and kisses and touches had become careless, then meaningless, until only a caricature of love had remained.

The girl was only young. Little more than a child. She still believed in things like love and hope. There wasn't much need to kill that, was there? Time would kill it for them. Time would kill the girl, with all her passion and defiance. A shattered sigh escaped thin-pressed lips as the smallest drop of sympathy filtered into being. "Stop," her voice was quiet, barely a breath. "Stop, Syx," Roxanne said again, her leather-clad hand extending to touch the De-Gun, forcing it down and away from the young woman who cowered before them. "We don't need to do this."

But her lover's eyes were hard, and the sharp angle of his jaw tightened. His grip tightened on the weapon in his hands, fighting the pressure to lower it. "Syx?" Roxanne's voice was still soft, "We don't need to kill her. She's practically a kid."

"Even kids can be cruel and dangerous," was his hushed reply, as the jagged emeralds of his eyes didn't leave his target. "And spies and assassins can't be allowed to live."

Roxanne swallowed hard, her eyes falling on the small pistol that had landed on the ground not ten feet away. There was truth in Syx's words, but there was also truth in their would-be assassin's. And the reality of it all was that her truth was more real than the one that Syx believed. They had become empty. Too much death, too much pain, and too much cruelty had eaten away whatever had existed before. There was no love in their hearts because there was no kindness to feed it. There was no mercy or understanding, only the dangerous notion of survival and the power that need to be maintained to ensure it.

Roxanne moved too quickly to fully process what she was doing or the choice that her frozen heart had made. Within a moment, the pistol was in her hand and though she no longer had a hand on the De-Gun, she had become infinitely more dangerous. She released the safety on the pistol with an eerily loud click. Her lips pressed thin, and her eyes haunted, Roxanne held the pistol to Syx's head. Her muscles were taunt as wires, singing against the strain of standing so very still as the world sunk back in around her.

She watched Syx's throat bob ever so slightly as he swallowed. The De-Gun fell ever so slightly. "This is what's its come to?" he asked quietly, his voice holding a silent threat. "You holding a gun to my head to protect some insignificant human?"

"I was human once," Roxanne said in quiet reply, her eyes never leaving Syx, even as the young woman's expression went from fearful to horrified. She extended her arm the smallest distance, pressing the mouth of the pistol against his skin. "She doesn't need to die, Syx," she repeated, her voice stronger this time. "Not for being right."

"Right?" Syx's voice carried a note of surprise, even despite the flattened tone it had carried for far too long now. "I thought _we_ were in the right. Isn't that why we've done everything we have? To make things right?"

Roxanne took in a shuddering breath as Syx swung around, the pistol now aimed squarely between his darkened eyes. The De-Gun was held more loosely in his grip, almost carelessly aimed at Roxanne herself. It was her turn to swallow hard against the lump in her throat. "What's happened, Roxanne?" Syx pressed, taking a step forward, even as Roxanne stepped back to match his movements. Both weapons remained trained upon the other. "Everything I've done, everything you've done, we did it all for…"

"For vengeance!" Roxanne exclaimed suddenly, her expression one of disbelief. "Don't you dare say it was love!" She shook her head, the pistol in her hands falling as spoke. "Everything we did, everything we ever did, was for revenge. We might have loved each other, but that wasn't what made the decisions. We did everything to get back at those who hurt us, those we felt wronged by. Even now, its all about power and control. There's nothing left in us to love with."

Syx's emerald eyes stared at her in shock. Roxanne licked her lips nervously, her gaze falling sideways, staring at nothing. "We've killed whatever part of ourselves was worth loving." She swallowed hard again, feeling empty. "You know its true. It's been true for ages, all we had to do was think about what it was we were feeling. We have an emotional link to each other and its been completely empty for months now. We've grown too cold, Syx. We can't even feel. How could we possibly be right? How could we be doing anything that we do for _love_?"

The truth sat heavy on the air. The De-Gun remained raised between them. Syx's head fell slightly, as Roxanne struggled to pull air into her lungs. There was an eternity of silence between them. And then there was the barest whisper in their bond. Like a breath of warmth, stirring against iced over emotions, she felt it. His gaze rose, almost painfully slow. His green, green eyes meeting hers and pulling her in. His look was that of a broken thing, despair in his aspect. "Roxanne," he whispered, the old tug of emotion pulling at her heart strings.

The De-Gun shook slightly in mid-air, his hand moving around it reflexively.

A shot rung out.

Green eyes went wide.

Roxanne collapsed to her knees.

"Syx," she whispered, the acrid scent of gunpowder and smoke filling her senses.

An unseeing gaze fell across hers as an empty body fell into her embrace.

"Syx," she whispered, her eyes falling closed as she pulled the shell he had left behind tighter into her arms.

"He was… he was going to shoot you." The voice in Roxanne's ears was haunted. Someone else would have to live with the pain of having killed.

For a moment, Roxanne was back in her own memories. She felt the icy trickle of cold water on her skin as she grappled with the reality of having stolen life.

She looked at the young woman with pity.

"Kill me too," she whispered softly. "Don't leave this only half done." She smiled weakly, tears in her eyes. "Kill the bad guys. Be a hero." She watched the young woman swallow hard, hand trembling around the pistol in her grasp. Foolish that, not checking for a second weapon. Roxanne breathed deeply, her hands shaking against the body in her arms. She looked at the girl for a long moment, what little humanity she had left rising to the surface. "Try not to die inside."

A second shot rang through the air.


End file.
